


Rounding Up

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ass-Kicking, Awkward Dean, Banshees, Captured, Clitoral Clamps, Demons, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, FanFiction.Net, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Greek Mythology - Freeform, It's got similes like a thesaurus's got words, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Kidnapping, Nipple Clamps, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam being handy, Sex, Sexual Content, Sick Dean Winchester, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 57,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genevieve had been hunting with the brothers for some months. Although she hadn't considered their silly conversations to be that flirtatious, maybe Dean had. The relationship had temporarily levelled-up but the agreed upon "let's pretend this never happened" wasn't happening. She'd never thought Dean would be the one to get messy on that front...</p><p>What follows is an interrupted romance - dates unfinished, burgeoning attractions stymied, wires crossed, sabotaging nerves, injuries, illness, pride... but they get there, in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen finds out the Dean may not want their fling to stay flung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This began over at fanfiction, but the content is starting to go beyond the ratings so I'm slowly transposing it to here...

Genevieve pushed through the glass door, holding it open for Sam and Dean behind her. She approached the woman behind the counter and ignored the cold once over she received.

"Good afternoon," she smiled openly. Friendly and harmless usually got more bees.

The woman pinched a smile in return, but took the time to flick her eyes towards Sam and Dean. She lingered on Dean and leaned into the counter as she did, showing off her cleavage. Gen watch the show, non-plussed and indifferent. She reached into her charcoal suit jacket and fished out the fake ID.

"We'd like to ask a few questions about a tenant you had a few nights ago," she said flashing the badge. She heard the brothers behind her do the same. "Sorry, my name is Agent Bennet. These are Bingley and Collins. What's your name?"

"Sandy," she drawled. Gen pulled out the picture of the victim.

"Sandy, did you talk to this woman at all?" Gen asked.

"Huh, maybe," Sandy shrugged, and pouted lazily. She raised an eyebrow. Gen's eyebrow twitched in response, and she tried to take a not-too-deep breath, to not set her jaw already, before she went on.

"Do you remember how she might've been when you saw her?" she tried again, easing like some school counsellor.

"I'll talk to him," she smirked, eyeballing Dean as she started to bounce her leg.

Gen's expression went dead, and thousand-mile stare landing on Sandy. "Sure sweetheart," Gen turned, "he's a very good listener. Collins? Would you?"

Dean winced at her. He'd been politely smiling at Sandy, not ignoring but not encouraging. It wasn't the task that he resented, it was Gen's willingness to hand it over.

Genevieve left the foyer, and waited outside, uninterested in watching a wankfest. She glanced back a few times, noted Dean's ass sticking out, true to form, as he leaned on the counter to "interview" Sandy. Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably, flashing Gen a well-worn face of patient pain.

When they left the foyer, Genevieve began to head for the car. As Dean made up the ground behind her he grumbled "What the hell was that, Genny?" as her passed by. She wasn't keen on that pet name.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"What the hell was that?!" he asked, now turning to look at her.

"What are you talking about?" she stopped, confused and annoyed.

"She was all over me!"

"Okay," she acknowledged, still unsure of what was going on.

"Would it have killed you to throw out a 'He's with me'?!" he barked and stropped off to the driver's door.

"What? You want me to play girlfriend to get you out of a flirty interview? Since when?" Gen asked, incredulous and still confused.

"What?! No!" Dean looked at her, so annoyed and now annoyed with himself. He shook his head and brushed her off. "Whatever. Forget it… Oh, and who the hell is Collins?"

Gen looked at Sam and his wallpaper impression. They both got in the car and she looked out the window, frowned out the window as she became more and more sure of what Dean really meant. It would keep.

Back at the hotel, everyone slammed their car door. No one had spoken, but not for want of something to say.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" Genevieve muttered, glaring at Dean.

"Yes you can," he ground out.

She let them into her room and turned to face Dean as she threw her key on the table.

"So, one more time: what?" she demanded.

"Why did you hand me over to her like that?" he demanded back, loud and fuming.

"Why wouldn't I? She wanted to flirt. You flirt!" Gen answered. She wasn't quite as flustered at Dean, but she was defensive.

"Happy to just whore me out to women are you?"

"You're frikken amazing, Winchester, you know that?" Gen shook her head, scolding him, almost beginning to pace. "You're killing me."

"Oh really," he said pathetically, "I'm killing you."

Then Genevieve turned on him, pointing. "You said it was a fling! A fling! Not, ooh gee," she looks at her watch, "20 hours ago you were in this room saying, and I quote, 'We'll just have a fling, Gen.' I said okay. 'I'll walk out that door and it'll be just like it was,' you said. And I said _okay_. So why are you so bent today?"

"Well, it was really good!" he exclaimed, expecting that to reveal everything.

"That's what flings are meant to be, Dean... How many not-good flings have you had?"

He's distracted momentarily, but quickly throws it off and snaps back. "I just thought that, you know, by the time we got to this morning, it was- different."

"Why?"

"That's just what I thought, okay?" he threw his hands up and started to pace, running his hand through his hair and pulling on his neck. "I lost track of what I was doing," he said, half to himself.

Gen peered at him suspiciously. It had been good, scarily good. So good that she didn't think it could be recreated. Locking it in as a once-off almost relieved the pressure.

She'd hunted with these guys long enough to watch Dean bounced off beds and babes with abandon. His criteria was female, keen and able. Gen was happy to have some once-off fun but she knew she wasn't built for anything in between. For her it's either all or one thing.

She strode toward him, interrupting his reverie and got her finger up in his face. "I'm not interested in you shifting the goal posts on me, Winchester. I won't be stuffed around. Figure out what you want and be clear." And she walked away before their electric closeness morphed into oh damn. She wasn't sure things were 'like they had been', at all.

Going back to the fridge, she pulled out a few beers, cracked them both and put one on the neutral space of the table.

"You wouldn't want anything else?" Dean asked, not sure of how to ask for something without giving anything up.

Genevieve just peered at him as she leaned against the counter and took a sip. She didn't want to answer that yet.

"I thought you'd have an opinion about that woman tickling my ear. Did you see that?" he added. He was starting to get his swagger back.

"I got all sorts of things to say about that," Gen levelled, "but I understood you didn't want to hear about it."

"Well, sometimes it's nice to hear someone say "He's mine"," he confessed calmly, watching to see how she'd react. He drank and waited.

They were beginning to get back to their usual easy conversation. When they had first met, Gen and Dean had played with each other on the theme of over-sharing. They would challenge each other to be grossed out or aghast. If Dean asked "Why so squeamish?" she would share "New brand of pads. And they suck." If she'd wondered aloud about a suspect's apparent sub kink he would wink out a "don't knock it till you tried it, babe". But always the other would shrug an unflinching "Huh," and keep on keeping on. Sam had learned to tolerate it.

But then, over the months, it had turned into simple honesty. They hadn't done any retrospective confessions, or told their life stories, but they knew how the other felt each day. They'd slipped into being an old couple from day one and let the other be whoever they were.

"I'm never gunna say that, you know," she said, relaxing a bit. Dean walked over to her and leaned against the counter just a little out of arm's reach, knowing she had something to add. "I'd say "He's my boyfriend" or say whatever that person is, but it's a role. I don't own them." She was trying to ignore his heavy gaze.

"I'd like someone to know that I think I'm theirs," he said, before another swig. "It's not possession. It's belonging."

"Okay," Gen said, rolling her eyes, "well, next time we get down to skins I'll be sure to leave a flag planted on your ass. See how you feel about that."

She smiled at him easily, happy to forget how much their friendship might've been ruined by the last day's actions.

"I wouldn't mind people knowing that I belonged to a woman like you," he said casually and he turned to take off his jacket and hang it over a chair. It was a pretty big flirt.

Genevieve looked uncomfortable. "Dean," she said uncertainly.

"What?" he replied, smiling to ease her into sharing.

"Why are you even interested in me?" she sighed, pleading, "I don't understand!"

"Excuse me?"

"Just," she knew she risked insulting him here, "I know women rate themselves kinda low, but I'm not like the type you usually collect. I'm awkward! I have a big nose and sometimes a double chin and I make goofy faces when I talk about stuff and I'm just... so rarely sexy."

Dean leaned on the back of a chair, content to watch her dig her own hole.

"It's not that I'm rough or anything, I know I'm not hard to look at, as such, but those women are so... hot. They have boobs till Tuesday and they're tall and so sexually assertive, and confident. I'm not that."

By now Dean had come back to his spot against the counter, and was smiling, bemused.

"Ugh," she resigned, "sorry, I just... You're a nine and I feel like such a six when I'm with you. Not always, just today, really."

"Well that's a load of crap," Dean said sternly, "I would never sleep with a six." He held back the _Nine, what the hell?_

Gen looked at him flatly. "Yeah, okay. You can add idiot to that list."

"You are confident," he nodded at her, "you haven't seen yourself in action. That's one of your hottest qualities."

She looked at her drink and wondered if she could drink away her stupidity.

"Let's go on a date," Dean said cheerily.

She winced, pulling one of those goofy faces. "Really?" she asked, almost whining. "What kind of date?"

"A date date. You got a nice dress?"

"Ugh," she slumped, "yeah, I s'pose. Yes." Such a confession.

"What's the problem?" Dean laughed.

"It's just, I wear a dress and I've gotta do the haaair and make-uuup and it takes like niiinety minuuuutes and... it just doesn't seem to make that much difference," she shrugged, slinking against the bench. Gen never really understood why people got so blown away by a bride or a red carpet outfit. It was beautiful, sure, a nice dress is a nice dress but settle down folks, you can still tell who the hell it is. Same old person. Different bucket.

"I'll be back at eight," he was insisting. He turned for the door and Gen followed him as he reached for the handle.

"Okay, but seriously, Dean, I rarely do all that. It's a big deal for me and I'm not very good at it," she said, her tone moving from pleading to warning. "If I rock up, all done up to the nines, and you say "Meh, 6.5" I will clock you so hard…"

Dean chuckled to himself, a knowing smile spreading. He stepped back toward her, near and warm. She breathed in on the closeness, adjusting her expression to something between her feelings of hope and disbelief. "Gen, that ain't gunna happen. You're a ten without your clothes. They're what bring you down."

She almost burst at the cheesiness of it, but before she could even close her eyes he kissed her, hand on her waist to pull her close. Both of them lost moments in flashbacks to the night before – the easy fun, the jokes, and the gripping, grasping, gasping peaks. And then it was the softness of now, and how they'd gotten to the bottom of familiar smells already. They breathed each other in and tilted the kiss, tasting each other again.

She was never quite sure about him till he did it. And then he was so convincing.

Dean opened the door and paused to ask her "Do you really want things to be just like they were before?"

Gen wasn't sure what he hoping for... "Sorta doesn't matter, does it?" she figured, with just a bit of cheek. "What we had before still led to last night... sooo..."

"See you at eight," he said and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen and Dean go on their first date

Sam watched Dean burst through the door of their motel room and head for the bathroom.

"You figure it out?" he called.

"Yeah," Dean replied, "going on a date."

Sam looked at the bathroom door from the bed, the research in his lap forgotten. "With who?"

"With Gen," came the far away answer.

Sam closed the laptop and shifted to the bottom of the bed. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, coming out of the bathroom to sort some clothes, "Why not?"

"Dude. You seriously can't imagine why not?"

Dean shrugged and frowned at his bag, not looking at Sam. He didn't feel like being talked out of this, but suddenly realised how long it was until 8pm. "We're doing dinner so you'll have to look after yourself." He grabbed some things and went back to the bathroom, closing the door for a long hot shower.

Sam looked at the floor and after a few moments shook his head. Dinner. Not a movie, or drinks, but dinner. He went back to his research and decided he didn't actually have to care about this screaming can of worms. Which it was. In his opinion, Gen was too sensible for Dean and she'd probably ask for a higher standard of boyfriend than he could be. But, of course, there's only so much anyone could ask of a hunter, and that's Gen's situation too. Maybe she didn't have mainstream expectations about whatever she could- "Nope," Sam shook his head again, "Not my monkey. Not my circus."

A long time later, Dean emerged from a steaming bathroom.

After a while Sam asked "You wearing aftershave?"

"Yup."

 _Damn_ , Sam thought, _if I can't smell it from here he must be really trying. Shit._

Meanwhile, Gen had gotten to the task, going through her routine of prettying up her lot as best she could. Her brain had been running a quiet commentary of risks and insults in the back of her mind. Having finished everything neck-upwards she looked in the mirror at the full effort and suddenly noticed how nervous she was, how unsure. Her insecurities had hijacked the night already. The initial treatment would be music. She popped her phone in the dock and picked something to blow away the dorkiness. Got to Give it up would surely dig up some of her mojo, whatever that looked like. She was worrying about the future when she should be replaying last night.

Sam and Dean heard the music start up. It was a bit awkward. When Dean glanced at Sam he shrugged a frown. "It's not bad," he said quietly.

Suddenly, there was a dense double bang, and a muffled _Ah Shit!... FUCK!_ Gen had hurt herself on the bed, apparently, and it had thumped against their shared wall. They waited for more… "I'm okay!" she called out.

Dean stared blankly at the spot the sound had come from. He pointed at Gen's room. "There is no mystery about what happened last night, is there?"

"Nope," Sam replied flatly.

Dean nodded to himself. "Okay … good to know…"

Soon enough, it was 7:30 and Dean was ready. Maroon shirt over black t-shirt, jeans and boots being all else he had short of FBI gear. He wasn't going fine dining just yet. He settled in to read something, anything, to still his nerves. Anything to keep him from trying to pinpoint where those nerves came from.

When he heard high heels hit the floor next door, he said to Sam, "She's got her shoes on, I'll see you later."

"Hey Dean," Sam said, trying to catch him.

Dean sighed, "Yeah Sam" as he grabbed his jacket. What depressingly sensible advice do you have today? he thought.

"Have fun, " Sam said and flashed a kind smile. Dean peered at him. "She's pretty awesome," Sam added, and looked back to his screen.

Dean's eyebrows bounced in surprise. "I'm not stealing your thunder here, am I?" Just a quick check.

"No! 'Course not!" Sam laughed, "I just… you know, if you're gonna date, don't waste it."

"Thanks," he nodded, "I'll keep in touch," and he left.

Gen opened her door before Dean had finished knocking. "I heard you leave your room," she explained.

Dean nodded, a soft smile forming. She was wearing her trench coat over her dress, done up and cinched at the waist. With her hair and makeup, she looked rather 50s. She was suddenly very, very pretty.

Gen locked up the room and Dean gestured down the path toward the car some yards away. He hadn't seen her walk in these heels before, or seen her walk like this. His distraction meant that when she remembered something, stopping in his path, he slammed right into the back of her, hair in his face, bumping her forwards.

"Sorry!"

"Sorry!"

"Sorry… I thought I forgot something," she said, closing her small purse, "but it's here… silver pocket knife."

"Is that a warning?" he asked.

Gen considered… "Yes!" She smiled cheerily. He smiled back and kept walking.

When they got to the car, Gen getting there first, Dean didn't open the door for her. She was relieved.

Neither of them properly registered the silence, so full of nervous chatter were their heads. Gen was remembering the feeling of him bumping into the back of her, and how he'd caught her shoulders, his breath on her neck. Last night had been all too quick, and too dark. Dean was trying to recall the smell of her perfume, another new thing, and was flashing images of how he could get close enough to catch it again.

They pulled up to a restaurant. A nice one. Gen's heart quickened at the prospect. She'd expected something nice, but not _nice_ nice. Dean paused a moment too, unsure if this joint wasn't silver service after all.

 _Screw it_ , he thought, _we're doing nice._

In her moments of light panic, Dean had gotten to her door and opened it for her. She swore to herself over the romance of it; too much promise too soon. He swore to himself at the picture of her dark eyelashes flashing up at him, her slender legs swinging out together and he unconsciously held out his hand so she could stand like a lady, with her knees together. And now they were holding hands. Which she broke. So much swallowing.

With Dean's hand on the restaurant door, Gen snapped to her usual senses. "Wait! Wait, Dean," she said, taking a step back.

"What?" he asked, concerned.

"You realise, this will change everything," she checked, brows furrowing.

"Unlike the sex last night," he peered at her.

"You're opening a door for me. You'll take my jacket, and pull out my chair and order my something off the drinks menu. It's crossing a line we ain't coming back from."

"Do you not want me to do all that?" he asked, unsure of how to get it right.

Gen looked passed his shoulder and winced, thinking. She looked inside, and then sideways at him. "Do you want to? Is that how you do dates?" she asked, unsure too.

"I dunno! I don't date!" he exclaimed.

Gen slumped, and stuck her tongue out with an "ugh". Recomposing herself she ordered "Just do what you want to do, okay? You don't wanna do all the gentlemanly shit, then don't. We're not roleplaying, or anything."

"Right. No, we're just hanging out," he shrugged it off.

"Well, no," she clarified, "there's three sets of cutlery in there. It's no hangin' out." Dean shifted his weight, trying to recall how that goes. "Let's just do the grown up versions of us for a bit," Gen said, and they both nodded and yeah-sured at each other like that was a pretty good solution.

They went in, the head waiter taking Gen's coat, and were shown to their table. Where the waiter also pulled out Gen's chair and suggested a wine for starters.

They sat. They adjusted the silverware and noted the exits. Gen pressed her lips together a lot, blotting her lips. Dean looked beyond her a little, checking out the other customers (all at least half a generation older than them) but his eyes slipped sideways, back to her. She was doing that slow chicken nod, a slight back and forth. Yup.

"That dress," Dean broke first, "Wow."

"Thanks," Gen smiled. She thought of more to say. "It was carefully handpicked. Note the crease-resistant fabric, the sensible but complimentary length, the stretchiness and the added pockets." He had noted the stretch, and the length.

"The little black dress for hunters," he remarked, impressed.

"I don't know how you've gotten this far without one."

"I like," Dean waved his hands at his own shoulders to indicate, "this, the neck line."

Gen's dress had a deep and wide v-neck, showing off some softness but solidly keeping it all in. The anti-possession tattoo between her breasts was still well hidden. Barely an inch of fabric covered her shoulder, with a slight cap sleeve, and there were little gathered points just below the collar bones, narrow tabs pulling the fabric away from her décolletage.

"Yeah," Gen agreed, looking down at the outfit, "I've seen this style a bit before, but usually on a much squarer neckline. Something that goes with big lamb chop sleeves and shiny taffeta. Blergh circa '86. But this nice."

"Yeah."

More silence.

"Actually," she thought, pointing at Dean, "it reminds me of, um, Superman. You know, when he pulls his shirt open-"

"Oh yeah-"

"-revealing the costume."

"Yeah," Dean laughed a bit.

"SUPer Cleavage!" Gen gestured, mimicking the action. "It's a bird! It's a dame!"

He couldn't help joining in. "Saving awkward silences, one boob at a time."

Gen's laugh started with a slight raspberry, and Dean lost it for a moment.

"Oh, man," she sighed, "There's no way I can do elegant for two hours. Be a pal and tell me if I've got food on my face, yeah?"

"You do the same for me," he replied.

"No way," she smirked, "I'll need me a snack." When Dean's eyebrows went up and his face says _Oh really_ , Gen looked around the room, chewing her smile. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded and decided that this was going to work. That this date was actually, really, going to happen.

Which meant that they couldn't pretend they were anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns more about Gen's history as a hunter, and he's impressed.

"So, I noticed," Dean began after they'd ordered, "that your style changed a few months after you started with us. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah," Gen said, nodding, "I do. That was a decision."

"What happened? It wasn't like to found your groove. You just, like, completely changed."

"The way you fight and hunt when you're alone is different to when you're with others. Which is so duh, but I didn't realise how much right away. I was trying to do my thing alongside you two, but it wasn't working. I was getting in the way sometimes. Like, I was still effective, but we-" she gestured wider, "-we weren't as good as we could be. And you guys have already got you guys figured out. So I shifted. I do the edges, fill in the gaps."

"Work your advantages."

"Yeah, I can be small, and accurate and quiet. Not that you guys can't, but sometimes the job won't let you."

"Yeah…" Dean thought about it. He could recall all those times she'd come out of nowhere, slicing or shooting, even with arrows a few times. She could be stealthy, and no one seemed to expect a third wheel to the Winchesters. "What were you like alone?"

"Distant. I did as much as I could with a gun or a crossbow. Disable something with a poison tip and then go in for the kill, that sort of stuff. Lots of recon. There was a time where I worked by remote so much I had to go looking for fights just to brush up."

Dean almost choked on his beer. "Sorry. How did that work?"

"One time," she described, half embarrassed, "I was trying to get this martial arts teacher to believe what I wanted. Him and me, in a car park, jeans and jackets, and a short stick for a fake machete." Dean started to bounce his shoulders from laughing. "I couldn't tell if he was scared for me or himself," she smiled sheepishly. "I ended up pretending to be a guy by a bar, poking someone till he threw the first punch. It was pathetic."

Dean was laughing openly now. "Desperate times," he shook his head and drank again.

"I did find one guy early on," she leaned in, "a victim. He was an aspiring cage fighter and fought a vampire attack – just one on one – and he did really well, but it was dark and crowded and he couldn't get the distance. Without knowing what he was fighting I'm not sure he could've won. After I finished it he was pretty grateful and I asked him to let me fight him for practice, as a thank you."

"Really?" Dean was leaning in too now, curious and impressed. "That's pretty gutsy. I mean, with monsters you know their deal. People can be pretty crazy. And cage fighting's intense."

"Yeah, I know," she reflected on the risk, "but it was good. I picked the location, I set the rules. I gave him instructions about what to go at, my neck or whatever, and we'd keep score. It wasn't like the fighting he was used to, because I kept running. It was awesome."

Dean stared at her for a bit. This regular woman, with apparently glamorous eyes, who went a night with an amateur cage fighter. She added, to play it down, "He was really a beginner. He'd only done, like, two fights. And I'm sure he went easy. But still, after an hour I walked away with cuts and bruises and light concussion."

"You walked away."

"Exactly," she nodded and leaned back with her wine.

"Wow," he breathed, "would you do it again?"

"I did, once more, but he wanted to come with me and do the next hunt. I called it quits after a quarter hour. He got too excited, went too hard, ended up in cuffs… I couldn't figure out what to say to get him off the idea."

"Delusions of grandeur?"

"More like realising that cage fighting's kinda is safe, I think. Which is crazy… But he had family… Anyway, I drove to the next state that night. Never again."

Dean nodded. She smiled. They drank.

"Gotta say Gen," he'd wanted to say this for a while, "I love the way you fight. I mean, I still worry, coz you're small-"

"I'm five-eight!"

"-so small, but you're so neat about it. And creative. You're so focused."

"I like the flow," she said, without even thinking, "and the adrenaline is a little addictive… but thank you. You - you and Sam - you're goddam impressive. I've learned a lot from you two."

"Aw, am I blushing," he jeered.

"Tell me about your first djinn again grandpa?"

"You watch it," he pointed at her. He hadn't seen the look she threw right then, he hadn't yet seen that kind of daring mischievous glint. It made his breath hitch. But she dropped it almost instantly.

"Honestly," Gen went on, "I'm not sure I'll ever be as good as you two."

Dean considered the compliment, and how it was heavy with bitterness. Only through all their misfortune could they be this kind of experienced. "Well, it's kinda hard when you're only one."

She let it go.

And they relaxed. Completely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute and nervous times in Datesville

One main meal and four drinks later, Gen and Dean were smiling at each other with their eyes. She would later recall quite distinctly her thought, right when Dean tried her chocolate mousse, that this was why people went on dates: so they could watch each other. Get an eyeful of hands and forearms. And the solid dose of electric eye contact. She still kept her feet tucked under her chair though. He stretched his out at every opportunity.

It really wasn't Dean's scene, but he was glad to be there with Gen like this, just the once. She didn't care how much she didn't fit in and it carried him through.

Gen had been doing all she could to make him laugh. She hadn't heard him laugh this much, ever. It was like a balm. Back when they'd gross each other out, laughing was when you lost and they won. But now, every time he put the back of his hand as he chuckled, mouth full of food, or when he had to clap his hands coz he'd just taken a swig of beer, it was like scoring three points. And her shameless punning got him on a roll too, doing everything he could to get her to do what she called her "fugly silent laugh". They bounced off the backs of their chairs, put down their forks and held up hands in defeat. It was cheesy and fluffy and delicious and healing.

Then there was this one moment where the folks next door glanced sideways and pursed their lips, letting their annoyance at the too-loud laughter spill out from their own space. (Or possibly at the low-brow depths she had used to crack him up. Who doesn't love farts? Honestly.) He saw Gen notice, how she glanced down and pulling in her cheeks, and he was so pissed so quickly. But then, Gen said "Darling, did you pack the black or the pink handcuffs?" well loud enough for them to hear, and she'd smiled broadly with some mousse on her teeth, very close to eyeballing the old cow to his right. He grinned at her, loaded his fork with pie and locked her sight before answering "Sweetheart, the black ones. They match your panties," as seductively as he could. With a wink, of course. Gen's ears burned, almost as bright as the woman's cheeks. Their neighbour excused herself and her husband quickly saw to the check. Gen leaned in a little to say "I think she's gone to clutch her pearls."

"You think?" Dean asked, chewing his pie.

"I know I did," she muttered, but didn't dare look at him.

Gen excused herself after dessert. The couple behind her began to go, and the middle aged man caught Dean's eye, winking, and patted him on the shoulder as he passed by. Damn country people, giving him feels.

When Gen approached the table again she came upon Dean leaning on his elbows, frowning at her empty seat. She thought he was beginning to doubt, but he wasn't. He was weighing.

Next was the bit she'd been dreading: the going back. She didn't want another awkward drive, but she didn't know what she wanted next. Which wasn't completely true. She hesitated to hope.

"Wonder how Sam's doing…" Gen commented, mostly for something to say. It reminded Dean to text him that they were on their way back – Date going well, on our way – trusting that was hint enough for him to find his headphones. "Probably forgot to eat. Hope he's found another job for us til the next full moon."

"Yeah," she said, and forgot that she was letting him help her jacket on. Dean had no doubts about where he wanted things to go, but wasn't sure of what Gen he wanted, or of how to find out. This wasn't like any other night with any other woman.

Somehow, though, they drew a thin, double-spaced thread of conversation out the door, into the car and along the drive back. It was a fragile chat about just stuff, neither of them able to give it their full attention. They pulled up to the motel rooms, and Dean strung it out some more and talked all the way to her door. As he leaned on the frame, and as she didn't interrupt him, they both understood what was being said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They tried. They really, really tried.

Gen had let Dean do the seductive thing and untie her trench coat. His arms had come around her waist and she felt him say "That perfume…" against her neck. Every hair stood to attention, and when he slipped the coat off her shoulders, he could see it in the weak lighting.

"Do you want a drink?" Gen offered.

"No," he'd said, squeezing her waist a little, "I'll be back in a minute," and headed off to the bathroom.

With no drink to prepare, Gen was a bit lost. So she made one for herself. The cap was barely back on the bottle and there was a fast knock at the door.

"Gen, it's me," Sam announced, "You decent?"

She stared for a minute. He must have a good reason.

"I'm good, come in," she called.

"Sorry, I heard you guys come back. Is he-?" he pointed to the bathroom.

"Yeah, what's up? You want one?"

"No, thanks. I think we have a job to do tonight," he said, hands on hips.

"Okay," she said carefully, not wanting to tell him to go solo straight away. "What kind of job?"

The bathroom door opened and Dean stood frowning at Sam.

"With the werewolf thing on the backburner, I left the police scanner on. There's a guy down an ally with his throat ripped out and his girlfriend missing. That's on one side of town. Some frat boys are missing on the other. They ran their car off the road but they're gone. It's a red mess."

"Frat thing could be drugs," Dean said flatly.

"Yeah but I don't think so. The radio chat talks about windows punched in, drag marks," Sam countered, somewhat apologetic.

"You think vampires?" Gen asked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure, but it's new and it's a lot. Might be a new nest in the area," he explained.

Dean had come closer and was watching Gen.

"Where in hell are we going to start looking?" Dean asked, still frowning.

"I think we should get to the car crash as soon as. That's most likely to give us tracks," Sam said gravely. He didn't actually want to ruin their night.

Gen looked at the ground, considering the situation. Sam and Dean both watched her, only for slightly different reasons. Her gaze wandered while she thought about how much they could get done tonight, whether it would be practical or wasted exhaustion. For a split second she realised she was now looking at the bed, Dean partially obstructing her view, a flash of the alternative evening behind her eyes. When she caught him watching her she stuttered to begin.

Gen slumped against the bench a little. "We should go while things are fresh. If they're new, the quicker we are the more vulnerable they'll be," she said, as matter-of-factly as possible, but everything about her said damn and sorry. It was all the encouragement Dean needed.

"You ready?" Dean asked Sam.

"When you are," he replied, "I'll see you next door," and left without a question.

As soon as the door closed, Dean stepped into Gen, nose to nose. He waited a quarter second to gauge her reaction and made contact. He simply moved his head forward a half inch, their lips locking, and she watched him kiss her for a full three seconds before he shifted, tasting her and closing his eyes to feel it. She answered, matching him, but stopped to ask "My room after?" and was surprised again when Dean leaned down a little to fully wrap his arm around her waist and brush her hair aside with his other hand, his palm landing on her jaw to hold her. His kiss was open and humming, smooth. He drank in her fragrance, the line of her back under his hand. He pressed her against the bench, nudged her, and she broke away to gasp and say "This isn't after."

He moaned in defeat. "Yeah. After," he repeated. She couldn't tell if he was resigned or pissed. He looked down at her chest, the framing of her dress. When he dragged his hand down her bare arm, he collected her wrist and held it up to kiss the pale inside skin. "I'm gonna kill those things so much."

"I need to get changed," Gen said softly.

"You can fight in this," he half pleaded. "Do the crossbow thing. Oh Gen," he moaned, shaking his head slowly, "please kill things in this dress. Please, I'll-"

"Leave!" she said loudly, "Leave now!" Gen pushed him backwards, turned him by the shoulders and pushed him to toward the door. With a shove and a wave, "Please, just…" she walked backwards as he stood by the door, "I'll see you after."

Minutes later, Gen knocked before letting herself into the boy's room. They were standing, ready, conversation paused. Bags were at hand, Dean was changed. She had her crossbow and her kitbag of other weaponry. If it was a nest, she wanted all her tools.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

Dean clapped his hands saying "Alright, let's go!" not a little bit bitter.

"Don't be pissed," Gen warned.

"I'm not!"

"This is what we're doing tonight," she added as they all headed out the door.

"I know. This is what we should do tonight."

"Right," she glanced at him as she headed out after Sam.

"Just not the kind of screwed I was looking forward to," he said sourly.

Gen stopped short in the doorway and looked at him. "Is all I'm sayin'" he said, arms open. She turned and headed for the car before her brain had a chance to derail.

With everyone in and key almost turned Sam muttered "Just so you know, I'm not planning on getting screwed at all."

Awkward pause.

"Yeah, we can tell," said Gen.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen and the boys survey the crime site and consider their options.

Half a mile beyond the edge of town, they drove past the crash site on their left and turned down the first road they saw, slowly cruising parallel to the flashing police lights. In the darkness, Sam reckoned the authorities wouldn't get very far with their tracking, but it depended on the experience of their trackers and of the vampires.

Parking the car well away, but with a line of sight, they quietly headed toward the end of a scattered trail of police officers and kept their distance. Deep in the pine woods, the three of them looked for the end of the yellow tape path. With such large spaces between the tall trees, there wasn't going to be much an inexperienced tracker could follow in the midnight.

None of them could hear more than a murmur from the cops but they could catch the accent of rallying fear. For people unlikely to think outside the box, this box was bloody and mysterious. They couldn't have timed things much better: after spying as much as they could, the officers were gathered and the hunters heard them declare the crime scene closed until daylight. A search party would soon be in the area to sweep in the direction of the path. During the distant hubbub following, while the police reorganised themselves, Gen and Dean held their spot and Sam headed toward the end of the tape. Crouched and careful, he followed the trail beyond the marked path for a few yards, and then to the left, toward the township, and disappeared from view. Dean stopped watching the police to stare at Sam's last shadow, scanning for movement, listening for any noise from that direction. Just as he was about to whisper a curse in Sam's name, he saw the swinging headlights of a departing car shine against his head.

By the time Sam got back to them he was motioning to head for the Impala. They were quiet when they closed the doors.

"Start the car, Dean," Sam said, looking at the area they'd come from.

"Where are we going?" he asked, gunning the engine.

"Not too loud, just get us out of here under the noise of the cops," he explained, "There're some houses down there and if there're vamps, they might spot your engine, or our voices. We don't have to go back to the motel, I just didn't think we should stay here and talk." They caught up to the procession as the last few police cars turned out and followed them back into town.

"Is there a street?" Gen asked, "Like, the burbs? Or just a few country houses?"

"It's the edge of the suburb, sealed road and big blocks. Old houses." Sam described what he could recall in the dark. "One street light."

"We should park up the end see how far we can get in the dark. The wind is in the right direction to approach from that side," she suggested.

Neither of them disagreed, so Dean followed his nose to the area and pulled over once Sam had confirmed their location with this phone.

Creeping from hedge to bush, from abandoned car to dumped hard rubbish, they worked their way down the road. They passed three or four homes and the street light before the buildings got really sparse, the last five houses facing nothing but once-cut forest. They tripped over debris from old trees, half-demolished garages and all sorts of random "just in case" horded crap. Even a chicken shed full of rusted play equipment.

The last two houses were dark, but the very last house was quiet and seemed empty. The second last house was wooden and decrepit, one storey plus a basement, a porch out the front and a few steps from the back door. The front yard had a car so old there was grass on the back dash. Everything in the backyard was sepsis hazard.

They hung back, by a sagging wooden fence, to listen to whatever they could catch. Almost instantly, a light in the basement shone through the shrunken slats and a crowd of boys' voices quaked. They pleaded, negotiated, but didn't get to finish their sentences before some choked grunts of wrestling, some yelling for a friend, and then the screams of No! No! overwhelmed them. Then it was darkness and whimpering.

On the main level on the house, the sounds of a casual party grew stronger, and one room's lights flicked off as everyone came together. Gen, crouching between the brothers, whispered closely in Sam's ear "Do you think you can count them from behind that tall bush."

Sam looked at the shrub she pointed at, over his shoulder and scuttled over to use it for cover. When he stood, the light barely caught his face, but he could see inside and stood still, for quite a while, to watch the nest of vampires drain the blood from a sobbing teenager splayed atop a coffee table. Dean and Gen could imagine the scene, thanks to the close and graphic soundtrack, not to mention the twitching steel of Sam's expression. It was over quickly. Sam waited. From his vantage he had counted six vampires, but knew there were more… Watching the conversation between them, he estimated another four in the room: Ten who did the killing in the living room.

Gen and Dean came over to him, and tapped his arm to pull back. They made their way back to the front of the neighbouring house, then moved one over again, stopping in front of a home blaring a loud game show.

"There was talk about two others," Gen whispered, "who were absent. I think they're guarding the basement." Dean glanced at her, a little envious he hadn't picked that up.

"Then that makes twelve. That's a lot, even for three people…" Sam thought aloud.

"They're knocking them off though," Dean argued, "we can't take our time."

"Some of them seem pretty young," Sam added, "They had those crazy eyes the new ones get."

"Yeah, they'll go through those boys by lunchtime," Dean muttered, rubbing his neck in aggravation.

"Sam, do you think the trail you saw will lead the search party to the house?" Gen asked, wondering how soon the regular folk could end up involved.

"Hard to say," he frowned, "I think they'll doorknock anyway. And the vamps will see and hear anyone coming pretty easily. Enough to clear out in time, or prepare themselves."

"What would you do," Dean asked Gen, "if you were alone?"

She snorted quietly. "I'd get help! More than you two stagehands." The boys smiled a little in response. "But, probably… I'd wait till morning, wait till it was just the two guards, take them out, evacuate the victims, close up everything but the entrance and flush them out. Get them as they escape."

"Flush them out with what?" Dean asked.

"Bombs, grenades," she shrugged.

"Bombs?!" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Have you done that before?" Dean was stunned.

"Yeah, once or twice," Gen admitted, "I'm no explosives expert, but I've rigged up a booby trap or two. This should be by remote trigger though. Maybe a flashbomb. "

"You'd just… blow up the whole house."

"No no, that's too big. We just want to make them run, but yeah, I'd burn it in the end," Gen nodded grimly. "Take off… nuke the site from orbit."

Dean's face broke a slow grin. "…Only way to be sure," he said slapping her on the back. She shrugged an apology at Sam, but here was no need.

"But those boys…" she said, "I'm sure they'll take another before dawn. And even if we were to rig it up like I said, they'd probably be bringing back live victims, right into the storm. Do you think the three of us can stealth our way in and do something now?"

The brothers looked at each other. They were well outnumbered, even if they got the guards down. Three against twelve was rough, but the numbers could change so easily… it was riskier than usual. Both of them got around to weighing up one life against the likelihood of their survival and the lives they'd save in the future.

"Let's decide at the car," Dean murmured and nodded them all down the road.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbombs, man-feels and bananas.

Dean got to the car first and opened the trunk. "There's no one close enough to help us in the next six hours," he said, collecting some weapons. "Do you have any of that stuff in your bag?" he asked Gen.

"I have three grenades and one flashbomb,"' she said, "but no equipment to protect us from it."

"That's okay, I've got a good arm," he replied.

"If you say so," Gen pulled her bag from the backseat, "there's only one though."

"Why do you even have a it?!" Sam asked, "That's crazy!"

"Yeah, it's a desperate measure," she agreed, "but I figure the brightness might do more damage on top of the explosion. The only time I've used one was in a brick building, and I was pretty well protected. I don't know how it will go in an old wooden house."

The brothers collected everything they usually used for vamps from the trunk – namely machetes and dead-man's blood. Gen had a double-edged blade in a holder down her thigh. It was a short sword essentially, which was heavier but she liked it. She'd carry her small crossbow, and restock dead-man's blood poisoned arrows from her other thigh's pocket. The grenades would be left behind.

"I'm actually pretty hesitant to use it today," Gen shared again, meaning the bomb.

"We're taking it," Dean said flatly.

"Everything we use can be used against us," she warned.

"I'll keep it secure," he said, a statement rather than a reassurance. Somehow, Gen felt, this thing had officially become his. She handed it over.

"Fine. So what's your plan?" she said.

"I'm hoping there's a cellar door to the hostages, but if not we are going to wait till they leave, and do what you said."

"No, Dean," Gen held up her hands, "the more I think about it the riskier it gets."

"They won't be bringing back victims in broad daylight-" he began to defend.

"Then why would they even leave in daylight! You're talking about waiting till dusk! They will use those guys for the day and play house if the search party comes through."

"Then that's when we should jump," he interrupted.

"Wait," Sam joined in, "you want to start a raid with a regular citizen at the front door and a search party behind them? What is up with you?"

"They will kill those boys," Dean growled, pointing angrily at the house, "kill any door knocker and leave town. We are doing this now. We will go in from the back, sweep through and take them out quietly, one by one. But, you know," he conceded a little, "it may not play out that way."

"Yeah, coz vampires always arrange themselves so that everyone watches the front door," Sam lay down the sarcasm thickly. Gen didn't want to shit all over Dean's plans, but knew she would never go ahead with this much risk. She wasn't the kamikaze type. But if they didn't go now, they'd be handing over a lot…

Dean watched Sam and Gen think. He was antsy. "Do. You. Have. A better. Idea?" he said, for the umpteenth time in his lives.

Sam stopped his pacing and fixed Dean with a glare. "That cannot be your defence for every half-assed plan."

Dean broke away and walked down the other side of the car to glower.

Gen remembered she'd packed some food in her smaller bag – she kept a post-hunt kit with snacks and a first aid kit. For snack and cracks, munchies and crunchies, she said. She fished it out and shared the food – a snickers and a banana each.

"Oh, for the love of mothers," Dean moaned. He grabbed Gen's head in both hands, sideways, and kissed her hair. They each cracked something and took a few bites.

"My vote," Gen muffled, "is to keep that bomb out of sight. It's a last resort. We cannot be even in the next room. Hostages have to be out of the house… But we do it your way, stay close together, and fight from back to front. The whole house is going to creak and give us away, even with a cellar door. The hostages might be the last part… It's going to be a fight."

Sam and Dean nodded while they chewed, and nodded at each other.

"Okay?" Sam asked.

"More food first," Dean answered, ripping open the banana. It was 4am and Dean nodded towards the distant woods, where Sam had skulked hours earlier. They watched festive-looking row of flashlights slowly bounced down the hill.

"They won't visit till after dawn," he speculated, "probably calling it a messy, drunken escape. I don't think they're worried enough to wake folks."

"Let's hope," Sam muttered.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teeth, blood and gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written an action scene before. Apologies in advance for any clunkiness.

Dean headed back down the road, leading Sam and Gen along the path they'd gone before and down the fence to where it stopped, unconnected to anything, the blocks backing onto pine forest. Between shed and shrub, they skulked up the overgrown and trip-laden back path, slowing as they approached the back of the building. They could see the exposed lightbulb, doing its best, through the kitchen and back door windows.

Turned out there was cellar door, and Dean pulled out his torch to have a quick close look. Upon finding the rusted-on padlock, Sam and Gen watched him shake his head, flick off the light and point to the back steps. There was no porch or landing; the door was atop the third booby-trap-rickety step and it was a pain in the ass. No rails, no cover.

Dean slowly shifted his weight onto the top step and looked through the door's window, waiting to see any movement through the old curtain. He wrapped his fingers around the door handle and glanced back in the partial light to check Sam and Gen were ready. They were waiting for him.

Dean gave a stony nod and turned the handle. Mercifully, it was quiet. He decided to duck down as he eased the door open, finding a rusty fridge immediately beside him. He could see the edge of tables and chairs in the kitchen, and if he'd opened the door completely he'd be looking down a corridor, the living room on its right. But, halfway open, the door creaked, just a little, and he froze.

A chair shifted. The hunters paused.

"Simon?" someone whispered, "that you?"

The voice stood and walked around the table, Dean rising to meet it. The young vampire breathed in, surprised, preparing to yell, but Dean raised his arm and swung, slicing off her head as he grabbed her jacket. They all winced at the special thudding sound of a falling skull, and Dean eased her body onto the floor.

They paused. No sound. No talking. Nothing. What the luck.

Dean pointed to the hallway and Gen and Sam made their way in around the door. They crept slowly, taking their time. Sam turned a little, pointed to the door on the other side of the kitchen, and mouthed "Basement" very, very clearly. Dean frowned at him, wincing. "Okay," he said silently, "good work." The flipped both thumbs. Sam flipped a finger.

He led them down the corridor, and began to inch as they approached the living room. When Sam got close enough, he could see a vampire sleeping in an armchair just inside the door, wall behind him, legs splayed out under the coffee table. He recognised this one from the killing earlier, and noticed the occasional bloodstained tissue. Sam slowly leaned forward, widening his view. Another slept in a second armchair, two more on the couch under the window, and one lying on the couch against the other wall. He quietly slipped to the other side of the doorway and, ignoring the messy red ring around the table, spied one more in another chair. Half the nest.

Sam indicated "six" with his fingers and Gen pointed further down the corridor, to another room on opposite side. Beyond that was the front door, its window now mid-grey with predawn light. She made her way to the open doorway, crouched down to waist height and took a quick glance. She held up three fingers. She wished so hard to know if the door would creak, imagining just locking the room and let them wait till last.

As Gen made her way back to the living room, Sam began to creep in. There was at least half a yard between the table and the chairs, and he figured getting in there was as good a chance as any. He worked his way to the right, grip ready, expecting them to smell human intruders. Dean was sure they'd hear his heart as he carefully lifted and lowered his feet over the first set of legs. With her sword in her right hand and pistol crossbow in the left, Gen just hoped they were all too new to know how to fight.

Dean crept into the most crowded corner, in front of the two on the couch and beside the second in an armchair, while Gen settled herself at the doorway with a snoozing vampire inches away, close enough for him to grab her throat if he chose. She had a quick think about what it would take to wake the sleepers next door.

They looked over their shoulders, checked each other for readiness and raised their blades. Then all eyes snapped to Gen's target, shifting sleepily in his seat, and as the brothers saw her swing from the waist, they turned to their own victims, machetes falling in unison, wet crunches repeating. The head of Dean's victim rolled down his lap, waking the girl sleeping on his knee. She opened her eyes to a face on the ground, all by itself, and began to wail. Dean's arm came up and down again, chopping through the neck and into the thigh.

The vampire in the corner, between Gen and Dean woke, snarling and leaping, not a fleck of confusion. As it grasped Dean's jacket, Gen shot for the chest and it yelped, falling down in agony, desperately pinching at the poisonous bolt. Dean swung again, having to reach across his own body in the tight space, and sliced through the front half of the vampire's neck. It leaned back and gorged blood, red spilling onto lap and floor, before Dean grabbed its hair and pulled it forward for a final cut.

Sam, meanwhile had struggled with the last lunging vampire: She had pulled herself away, back down the couch, and then popped at him like a baboon, straight for the neck. Although Sam had gotten his blade through her body, she hadn't paused much, and pulled him toward her mouth by his arm and hair. Back when Dean was slicing, Gen had dropped her crossbow, clambered over some limbs and stabbed her short sword through the vampire's throat. Its hold on Sam weakened, and Gen said "Hold the head." As soon as he had a good grip, grabbed the sword with both hands and yanked through the spine. A gentle drag along what was left was all it took for gravity to let the body free.

Sam and Gen hadn't noticed the footsteps from the bedroom, but Dean had already met them in the hallway, protecting his friends as they'd finished. His jeans were splattered below the knee, boots shiny and wet. A warping scream galvanised them all. Sam and Gen moved in behind Dean as he filled doorway and faced off a half-crumpled woman, two boys behind her. "My babies!" she sobbed, elbows in her gut, hands clawing upward. "Ugh!" she sobbed. Dean smirked at the melodrama. She straightened in rage and laid a watery, shaking glare on him. "I'll kill you!" she shrieked, "I'll leave you half-turned in a hole, you bastard!"

"Been there, bitch." In the cramped space of the corridor Dean swung at the woman, missing as she ducked and slammed him into the ground, both of them sliding inches in the dust, toward the kitchen. With his weapon knocked aside and the vampire enraged, he defended himself against punches, clawing scratches and attempted bites, managing to get in a few hits of his own.

Gen eyed off the vampire in front of her, edging him back into his friend. Sam closed in behind, not wanting to leave her outnumbered. They were young vampires and had been young men, itchy for action and revelling in their new violence. Both panted with anticipation.

As Dean wrestled behind them, the first lunged straight for Gen. She stuck her short sword through his shoulder, pushing him to the left and against the wall, giving Sam clear access to the third. He came down on the boy but, almost upon contact, the fight became a whirlwind, his partner taking on a crazed-cat style. They careened toward the front door, a mess of snarls and grunts.

Gen took a blow to the head, reeling down and backward, and landed on her knee. She swung at the leg, chopping deeply, and found herself level with him when he fell. She pulled her weapon in close, meaning to drive it upward between them, but he knocked that right arm away. She managed a left to the eye, but he grabbed her arm, turned her and pulled her back into his chest. His other hand came in front, grabbed her throat and hauled her into his lap. He opened his mouth wide, hovering to chomp into her neck-

"Hello!"

Everyone froze. Dean was under the female, holding her wrists above him, and Sam was tangled in teen psycho monster.

"Hello?" said the shadow at the front door. "Search and rescue doorknock?" They were up early.

Gen's captor scrambled backwards, resting against the wall. She had begun to wrench herself free but he grabbed her head, hand over mouth, and pinned her head against the wall over his shoulder. He pulled his lips back to show rows of pointed teeth, eyeballing Sam with intent. "No one here!" he yelled, words fat around the fangs. "Shorry!" He grinned agape at Sam, saliva pooling.

"Umm," the shadow was going to try again. Dean took the opportunity to move and wrapped his leg around the top of his vampire, thudding her to the ground and sitting up to pin her. In the quick scramble to dominate, he'd found his own blade and got the attention of the one holding a wriggling Gen. Dean pressed the sharp edge against his victim's throat in a direct challenge.

Gen's captor got the message and became serious.

"We're looking for a few boys," the hapless citizen explained. "They mighta been injured in a car accident. You haven't seen anyone about?"

"Nah, we're good," Sam announced, between puffs. "Like, we're only awake coz you knocked."

"Okeydokey," came the reply, "Well, just call us if you see anything." A flyer slipped under the door. All eyes were on Dean as they listened to the footsteps going down the porch, then fading down the road.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit curly.

"You should back off there man," Dean warned.

"You even scratch her-" Gen's captor began, but she snatched her arm back, piercing an arrow through the eye and got an earful of screaming vamp. She pushed backward, heels in the ground, while wrenching away the grip on her chin.

Dean pushed down, cutting through the female vampire's neck, and Sam's opponent went full banshee. As Gen twisted, scrambling out from under the arms, away from the wet screams of pain, Dean got himself between them and pinned the vampires head in place with the short arrow. He shifted his position to the side, giving Gen a clear strike at the neck and the noise stopped.

Both of them, now kneeling and panting, turned to Sam's fight. The slapping, grunting, grabbing, writhing mess was awkward to watch. Sam kept the heel of his hand against the vampire's chin as they pulled and rolled into the corners of the hallway. Gen was closer but couldn't figure out how to help, how to get in there. At the least, she held Sam's weapon for him, by the blunt edge, handle outward and ready for him.

Dean tried to approach, dodging slightly to find an angle. At one point, Sam worked himself away a little, legs finally getting some distance from the long, springy guy. Dean took the opportunity, grabbed the vamp's ankles and yanked him down, free of Sam, and knelt on his knees. Sam scrambled for his blade. The boy sat up, swearing and grabbing, and Dean punched him squarely in the head. By the time he'd landed on his back, Sam was there, ready, and killed him.

Sam's chest heaved as he slumped against the wall. Seconds passed. "You know… we only just met," he said, pulling a sad face. They breathlessly puffed out some laughter. Sam had some shiny spots, but seemed to have come away with only scratches. Dean had a bloodied lip and eyebrow. "Where are the last two?" Sam asked breathlessly. Their absence was making him nervous for the hostages.

"Guarding," Gen decided. "They'll be waiting for us."

They moved quietly and collected their things, Gen finding her crossbow and reloading as they headed down back down the corridor to the kitchen and the basement door. They brothers arranged themselves in front and back of Gen. As Dean slowed to listen for noises below, they heard a scuffle behind them, from down the corridor, and fast footsteps approaching. They braced for a barrelling attacker, but instead watched a whimpering girl, pale, horrified and messy, run out the back door, a blond blur. Sam muttered "Shit," and four steps later he was out of the house and after her.

"Dammit!" Dean half whispered.

"She might be bit," Gen answered, "Go on, we can only use two of us down a stairwell anyway. Go."

"Woman, I know," Dean scowled. "And I'm the one who says go."

"Say go," she told him.

He almost rolled an eye, but as he reached for the handle, Gen muttered "And don't woman me, you douche."

They found the basement light on and began the descent into a box of dampness, sweat, piss and fear. As they snuck down, the shuddering breath of frightened people echoed up, feet shifted and Dean turned at the base of the stairs to find three young men, all strung up against support beams, and two vampires, each holding knife to a throat.

"Well, this is quite the welcome," Dean announced.

"Stop there," one vampire said. He was older. Or, at least, was older before he was turned. The other vampire was pale and rattled. Gen stood beside Dean and had a good look at their state. It seemed they'd picked this plan and waited and the young guy, listening to the battle above, looked close to losing his nerve.

"Is there anyone left?" the older one asked.

Dean paused for a moment. "No," he said, "there was no one left to defend them." The hunters decided, rightly, that one was more experienced than the other.

The vampire twitched. He adjusted his grip and then, staring at Dean, slowly pushed the tip of his hunting knife into his victim's chin. The boy whimpered, unable to move or scream, and tears rolled down his cheeks. His friends shook and shifted, one of them turning away to sob. The younger vampire stared and leaned at the sight of good blood going to waste.

"Careful," Gen warned, "tongue's bleed a lot. You'll need him."

"I have two more," the vampire sneered, but he pulled back all the same.

"You have a newbie who's navigating by bloodlust," she replied, "and no help to get more."

The older one clenched his jaw over and over, his gaze shifting between the intruders. "If you don't leave," he ground out, "I'll kill them all, after I kill you."

Neither hunter reacted, waiting to see if he really had a plan.

"Paul?" the younger vampire looked at the older, pathetically, "Do you-"

"No, not you Aaron."

"Okay."

Dean took a second to push aside his pity, his seething, grinding hatred for what these monsters do to people. "I'm not sure why you're negotiating," he said, "because you may think you have leverage, but the bottom line is that you're not going to survive this. You're assuming we care if these boys survive."

"Well, I care," Gen corrected. "You don't."

Aaron looked at Dean, suddenly irate with confusion. "You don't care?!"

"Aaron! Shut up!" the older one barked.

"Nope," Dean said calmly, "it's just… I like the killing."

"It's a pain in the ass," Gen interjected. Dean and Aaron glanced at her. "Well, it's always messier than it should be," she explained quietly.

"You're an asshole," Aaron sneered.

"I'm the asshole?" Dean repeated. "Wow, I got told."

There was a beat while the older vampire tried to re-harness the situation, but he was too slow with his words.

"You know, you two look really similar," Dean said, pointing his weapon at the Aaron and his assigned trading card. "I think, if I can remember 'don't slay the grey'," he nodded at the hostage's grey sweater, "you'll be alright."

And then the old guy cracked it. Paul came at Gen, wordlessly and almost as Dean still spoke; she shot her crossbow but it slipped past him. Aaron reacted to his cue almost instantly and ran at Dean. But Dean misjudged, going right to get between Gen and her attacker, and Aaron blind-sided him. He was young, not useless.


	10. Chapter 10

Gen had dropped her crossbow and jumped sideways, drawing the fight into a bit of space. She ignored Dean and Aaron already sprawled on the ground, punching and grunting. She and Paul danced and shuffled a little, one trying to stab and the other trying to disarm. Two bouts of contact and Paul had taken three slices to the torso, but he managed to grab her wrist and wrench the blade from her hand, almost breaking her arm. An elbow to her head, Gen came down on his leg, and they went on fighting, scuffling in the dust, both of them working hard. Gen used all the strength and focus she could muster, but Paul made the most of his unnatural power. In close contact, she was disadvantaged at every turn. They didn't notice Sam break the old lock from the cellar doors, or when he ran passed the hostages and yanked Aaron off Dean, being the closest fight to hand. Aaron barely had a chance to plead, but was going to, before he was killed.

That, Paul did see, and he quickly changed the fight. He scrambled around Gen, wrapping his left hand over her eyes and pinned her head to his shoulder. As he stood to renegotiate, Gen practically dangled from the hold. She was puffing and grunted at the pressure on her bones.

"Back off!" he yelled. A crisp dawn light now filled the room, dewy air flowing in and cooling their feet. The rankness was rolled away and the bound victims puffed in desperate hope. Paul grabbed Gen's right wrist and twisted it to straighten her arm, pushing her shoulder forward and presenting the side of her neck. She managed to hum her moan rather than cry out. "You won't kill me before I bite her," he warned, letting his pointed teeth slip down passed his lips.

"We can cure her," said Sam, "just like we'll cure the girl upstairs."

"What if I rip out her neck? Can you cure that?" he asked. "I don't mind taking her down with me."

Once again, Gen wriggled and strained to disguise the action of getting a bolt from her pants pocket. Sam and Dean held Paul's glare, pretending to think twice. Another twisting wriggle and she slammed the poison into his upper thigh. He called out, but didn't let go. She bashed down on it again, hitting the bone with the tip, and his grip weakened. She pushed her foot into his knee for leverage, folding herself forward, all her strength going into her forehead. Even as he held her arm, she slipped down, crying out against the pain in her shoulder. With Gen down and clear, Dean came at him, a double handed swing ready, and scooped his blade up, beheading the snarling vampire as he now gripped the arrow in his thigh.

The heavy head glanced of Gen's back and her arm was released. She made an aching noise of relief as she fell onto her side. Dean crouched down beside her, his hand on hers as it gripped her shoulder. He looked at her, and didn't ask if she was okay.

"Are you bit?" she snapped at him.

"No," he said quickly, "You?"

"No," she breathed. "I'm… I'm going to lay here for a while."

"Okay," Dean nodded. His instinct was to say "I'll be back in a minute", but he couldn't remember what he would usually say…

Sam was untying the hostages. He gave the injured one something to hold against his wound, and his friends wrapped their arms around his shoulders. "The girl upstairs, Emily," Sam began. "She was bitten by the screamer. There's a syringe in the car."

"You wanna park it out front?" Dean asked, fishing out the keys.

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied and caught them before running up to tell Emily what was going on.

The young boys put their injured friend in a chair and stood by him. Everyone rested for a bit. Gen rolled onto her knees and sat up. Testing her arm, she found it was very sore, but not changed. Dean didn't need to give her advice. As she held onto her jacket lapel with her injured arm, she used the other to help get herself to standing. Dean collected her short sword and wiped it against his jeans before slipping it into its holder. He found her other weapon and handed it over. She smiled, noticed her concussion and swallowed as her injuries made a roll call. Dean looked at her and realised that he couldn't recall what he usually did because he'd been letting Sam do it. These last months, he'd tended to Gen for little things – quick plasters and silly shit that he could joke over. When he'd worried, he'd hung back and now he really didn't want to.

Gen looked at the boys in the basement, cowering from their memories. Dean stood almost beside her, his back to them.

"We should drop them at the hospital," she said.

He held her wrist in his for a moment, running his thumb over its back. "No, we'll take Emily with us to do the cure, and call the authorities to the house."

"Yeah, ok," she shrugged, "That's a fair compromise." She began to walk toward a spare chair, but changed direction. "Ugh, I should probably go up and sit with Emily."

"I'll go," Dean offered, "I'm less bloody than you."

"Yes. Good," Gen sighed. "Really? I'm that bad?"

"Like an amateur cage fighter."

"Oh, you're such a bitch," she said, sitting down.

In the half hour that followed, Sam brought the car down to the house. The victims got some water and what was left of Gen's snacks, Emily was talked into going back to their motel, Sam collected some dead vampire's blood and Gen waited until the very last minute before getting out of her chair.

They'd told the boys to stay where they were and just wait. Maybe sit outside by the cellar door if they really had to leave. By the car, Sam called the authorities and suggested they check the last two houses again regarding the search and rescue. On the way back, Sam with Emily in the back and Gen slumped beside Dean, they did some cursory recapping.

"Damn," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "That was pretty easy."

Gen lifted her head up and put all her energy into a scowl at him. It was hard, with her bruised throat, swollen eye and cut eyebrow.

"For twelve vampires?!" he defended, "That was goddamn easy."

"Yeah, I know it was," she said and dropped her head. "God we were lucky. They were sleeping… they were fucking sleeping." Gen flopped her hands to emphasis the point. She closed her eyes and patted Dean's thigh before rolling away a little, missing him trying to catch her hand.

"Why the last two houses?" Dean asked.

"I had a quick look, just in case," Sam answered. "They'd dumped a body."

"Jeez, you're lucky there's wasn't more than a body, Sam," Gen grumbled.

"I didn't go in," he clarified, "just looked through the window."

"Okay," she conceded. "They must've been so young, all of them. So reckless... We have no food."

Gen began to remove last night's bobby pins from her hair and soon enough they were back at the hotel. Sam shepherded the rattled Emily into their room, talking and keeping her calm. Gen got out of the car as casually as she could, while Dean was collecting things from the trunk.

"You should go have a shower," Dean said. "We can do this without you."

"Sam can't be much better than me," she answered.

"Yeah, but he's good with Emily," he replied. "Seriously, Gen."

"I'll get some ice on me and have a sleep first I think," she said, pulling the last elastic from her hair. He wanted to do the ice, do the plasters. She wanted him to, too. She'd been daydreaming of a hot shower with company...

"Why didn't you undo that last night?" Dean wondered.

"It was really secure," she shrugged, "and hard to grab."

She'd plaited and pinned her shoulder length hair just twelve hours ago, and except for the coating of dust, it looked fabulously full and bouncy. "My goddamn luck," she muttered, eyeing off a pretty lock beside her face. Dean tucked it behind her ear and looked at her punch-smeared mascara.

"Come find me when you wake up?" he asked.

Gen watched his face for a moment, but was too tired to think. "You too?"

"Deal." He smiled a little, leaned down and kissed her gently so that neither of them bled again.


	11. Things wrapped up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Dean, Dean... not great at ball sports.

Sam and Dean had set to curing Emily as soon as possible. Putting it all together hadn't taken long but once the formula took hold and she was back to fully human, the exhaustion was overwhelming. She was distraught, shaking, crying for all sorts of reasons. Sam held her hand, once he could catch it, and talked her down patiently. They gave her whatever food she'd take and insisted she have the bed by the bathroom. She fell asleep so quickly and deeply that they checked her pulse. Dean stayed up for a bit, doing the easy watch, while Sam cleaned up. They tagged for the shower and Sam crawled onto his bed as Dean headed out the door.

He didn't knock on Gen's door, expecting she'd be asleep. And she was, on her back under three small bags of melted ice – one each on her shoulder, her ribs and half her face. Dean eased them off and had a good look at her injuries. Lots of new colour, not too many new shapes.

He slipped onto the bed next to her, leaving some space between them, and looked her over again. She was a romantic mess; beautiful, vulnerable, beaten, bruised and victorious. He watched her snore as he dozed off.

Late morning, Gen woke from sheer thirst. She drank from the bathroom tap and washed her face a little, dragging the length of her fingers under her eyes. Then she leaned for a moment to decide… Dean appeared in the doorway.

"Which do I look more: tired, hungry or grubby?"

"Grubby," he admitted, "but you should eat before you start to shake."

"Yes," she nodded heavily, noticing he'd collected that little fact about her. "Do they have a minibar?"

"Nope, I'll call for pizza or something."

"Or something please."

Dean found a folder of order-in joints, and ordered stacks of meat and cheese. "Twenty minutes," he announced.

"Okay," she said, downing some left-over juice. "I'll shower."

Dean watched her head for the bathroom, literally tracked her across the room, and she made no eye contact, no invitation and he didn't waggle a thing about her going off to get hot and wet. He felt panic heavy in the back of his chest.

Gen took her time, up until she heard the food delivered. When she emerged, the burgers were there but Dean was gone. She unwrapped one and snarfed a few bites before getting herself quickly dressed. Dean came back in, knocking this time, as she sat with their lunch.

"How goes it?" she asked, apparently occupied by food.

"Emily's still sleeping," he said, and sat opposite her to finish his meal. They ate in silence.

So this was good. Normal. What people normally do when they live and work together.

Maybe the moment had passed. Maybe that itch has had its scratch. Whatever. They're grown adults. They can be friendly.

Gen glanced at Dean. "We should go back to the bunker," she said around some lettuce, "save the money while the job is sleeping."

He glanced at her too. "Yeah," he nodded, grabbing his drink, "Sam will be up for that."

And it's nice to be comfortable with each other. Messy eating and no need for chit-chat. Thank God.

Gen finished her meal quick enough to ache from it. She skulled her drink and stood to clear her rubbish. "We should probably get going then, figure out Emily and stuff."

"Yep," Dean agreed. He hadn't actually finished, but took what was left in one hand, his drink in the other. "I'll wake Sam, start packing."

So much easier just being buddies.

Later Gen offered to be an alibi to Emily – something like meeting a fraught, mute woman on the road, gave her a place to crash – and shared her cell number. It seemed as solid a cover as any for the messiest story of her life. They hugged and waved her off, but Gen didn't hear from Emily again.

The drive back to the bunker took till after dinner. Gen spent most of it squinting out the window, pretending she wasn't imagining Dean squinting down the road. He was remembering, not imagining, things about her, things of her he'd seen in the dark. Sam was remembering too: "Not my monkeys…"

When they got home, no one joked. Or talked. Dean didn't get any drinks, Gen didn't offer to make food, Sam didn't ask for others' laundry to go in with his load. Everyone just nodded at each other and said goodnight. It was nine o'clock. By the time Gen got to her room she was muttering in frustration. What the fuck kind of shit was this. Nothing's the way it was, it's not comfortable, it's barely even functional. She'd decided: Either something happens or I'm off.

Dean was in his own space, mostly frowning, and even though his heart raced, he was taking his time to put his things away, doing it all before he set in for the night. Not normal. Sam came across him in the halls. Not really the person he wanted to run into.

"So, what's going on?" he asked lightly.

"Nothin'," Dean said, snapping into casual mode, "just cleaning up."

"I mean with Gen."

"Oh, nothing," he shirked, "It was just, you know, friends with benefits."

"How was the date?" Sam asked, hands on hips. "She looked hot."

"Y'heah," he began to grin but shook it off. "It went fine," he hadn't planned an answer for this. "We talked about work, mostly. She told me some of her stories…" No, no gushy sharing, you're not a fucking fourteen year old.

"So, no buzz? No sparks?" he asked, surprised, "Just… friends."

Dean looked at him, realising he had to decide. Right now… He licked his lips and settling into the words. "Yup, just friends."

Sam watched him a little. Watched him struggle to hold his expression. And began awkwardly "So… you wouldn't mind if…" He gestured towards Gen's room. "If I… you know."

"What?" Dean asked, suspiciously.

"You know… If I asked Gen…?"

"Are you serious?" Dean was almost disgusted.

"Not right away, of course!" Sam defended, "It's just, I didn't realise that she could… I mean, I've never seen her..." he struggled for the words, and almost let his hands suggest too much. "And really, I think she's more my type-"

"I swear to at least four Gods, Sam," Dean spat the words, getting too close, his finger up in Sam's face, "you even look sideways at her-"

"Yeah, nothing my ass," Sam said flatly. He shook his head a little and walked away.

Dean stared at the space a moment. "You're a complete douche canoe, you know that?"

Sam's voice echoed down the corridors. "Go and figure it out, you dumbass!"

That's what I was trying to do, asshole, Dean grumbled in his mind. I was trying to make it easy and quiet. Just coz shit is there doesn't mean it needs stirring, ya big fucking spoon… But he was right; now was the time.

Soon Dean found himself in the corridor outside Gen's room. He'd meant to knock but wasn't yet sure what he would do. He paced, eyeballing the door, running through options, openings lines. Maybe if he started with whatever felt right the words would just… Then he realised, she could probably hear him out there, on the concrete… "Gen?" Dean said, knocking quietly. Nothing. He knocked and called again. She wasn't' even there. "Fuck."

He found her in the kitchen preparing some packed meal and thought some nice conversation would be sensible but at this stage he was well over it.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he seemed angry.

"Okay," she said carefully. Gen put her food in the fridge and walked passed him waiting in the doorway. She walked too slowly. He passed her and took her hand, striding ahead. Gen felt her legs stretch as she worked to keep up without jogging. When she realised they were going to his room, and not likely anywhere else, she asked "So you want to talk privately?" It wasn't clear why he was taking her anywhere – they hardly needed privacy to yell – but she knew him well enough to let this pan out. As they covered the distance her mind tripped backwards, passed the drive home, skipping the stunted morning, back through the nest hunt and zoomed in on the date. His smile for her, and that moment when he'd undone her trench coat, his breath on the nape of her neck…

Dean lost no speed at his door, swinging her inside and closing them in darkness. He let go her hand and pulled at her waist, turning them both, pushing her against the door and bringing himself against her. He found her face so quickly, locking her into a wet and open kiss as they puffed into each other, teeth to teeth. She grabbed his arms and moaned as he shoved himself against her, breaking the kiss to breathe. Dean pressed his head against hers, rolling it a little, like he was testing her presence. His hands found her head and cradled it, palms over ears, as he kissed her again, humming at her fragrance. He slid his face into the softness under her ear to breathe it in and Gen couldn't help but tilt for him. His lips on her were electrifying. She didn't want to be taken over by all this just yet.

Then he picked his head up and looked at her in the dark. "You were making a lunch," he stated.

Gen tried to calm her breathing. "Yeah," she admitted.

"Why?" Dean asked, lower than before.

"Why do you think?" she answered, not a little bitter. He tightened his grip and shifted his weight a little. "Let me guess, you clenching your jaw? Licking your lips while you figure out how to save things?"

"The fuck?" he winced, caught out and shitty.

"I told you Dean," Gen said through clenched teeth. He pulled back a little in surprise and she took the opportunity to push him, but he wouldn't let go completely. He kept a hand on her waist while they were blind. "I told you I wouldn't be screwed around. What the hell was today?"

"Today? Today was fine!" She didn't respond. "It was normal." Again, she waited. "It was normal for someone!"

"Fuck off," she was pointing at him, in the dark, "it was awkward as all shit! Fucked if I'm having another day like that fuck buddy!"

"Hey, you played it straight too," he argued, matching her volume. "You didn't touch me! You didn't even make freaking eye contact, let alone flirt." She pushed his arm away to leave but when he heard her grab the handle he slammed his hand on the door, his weight keeping it closed.

"Why did you even bother with the same bed?" she asked quietly.

He understood, then, that she felt he'd started it. That she'd done what she thought he wanted. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Gen flicked on the light and watched him squint at her. "I'm not quite ninja enough to kick your ass in the dark," she said, and did her best to not look intimidated.

"I'd love you to kick my ass." That goddam smirk. "And when did you get so sweary?"

She didn't even register the light banter. "You shifted the goalposts again."

"Yeah," he admitted, like that was just what happens, and stared at her.

"Dean, I think you're misunderstanding." Gen stepped back a little and crossed her arms, squaring off. "This is not the part where you seduce me, again. It's not where you woo me into being your lover in the dark and your workmate in the daylight. This is the part where you realise that you have to say it's either on or off, or I will leave in the morning and sleep alone till then."

She stopped to let him think. But he wasn't thinking as much as coping. He hadn't met her wrath face to face and he couldn't break her glare. It was hot enough when she did it to others. And, best he could tell, she wasn't afraid of him. He wasn't even sure he had any leverage and it was terrifying. His breath has risen in his chest and he found his hand on the door was keeping him still as much as keeping him up.

"You'll leave if it's off?" he asked like a complete bitch.

She breathed in and glared at the horizon for a moment before trying again. "No. If you decide, I'll stay. If you are indecisive, I'll go."

"So you'll stay whether it's a yes or a no, as long as it's a yes or a no."

"Holy shit. Dean," Gen said walking away, "I just want to know what's going on."

"Well, what do you-"

"No!" she yelled, "Not me! You!" She pointed, furious. "Do you want to be with me or not?"

One and Two are for the thinking.

Three is for the keen kids.

Four is for when the others realise you mean, yes, you can answer the question.

Five.

"Let me know if you want help on the full moon," she spat. Dean had just enough brains to get out of the way of the door as it swung by.


	12. Little drummer girl

Once she got on the other side of town, Genevieve pulled over, grabbed her phone and texted Sam: Hey, sorry for not saying bye, but trusting I'll see you again. Call if you ever want a third set of hands. Later hugger.

Half an hour later he replied: We'll be in IL on Thurs. Keep me updated on where you are so I know if you're handy. You'll be missed.

She answered almost immediately: Ditto.

Two days later, she found a salt and burn. A policeman had let slip that his wife's death of a year ago might be connected to a homicide in their old home. It was embarrassing for the squad but the local rag had run with it until the uniforms told them to shut up. Gen's appearance as a sympathetic ear was well timed and he poured out his suspicions to the first person he could trust. Namely a stranger who would soon leave town.

First things first, Gen headed off to the local cemetery to deal with the corpse. The cop assured her he'd not kept a single artefact of her person. It had gone well, a slight close call with the caretaker, but she was sad to be working alone. Not least of all because graving digging was the bitchiest part of the whole job. She'd tried to get out by laying the shovel across the hole and pulling herself out, but it snapped and she felt _things_ break beneath her as she landed. Yelchh. She came this close to digging footholds into the hole's wall. Where the hell were those tall guys and their big arms? In the end, it was the screaming apparition behind her that was most motivating. She bunnied her feet up that wall faster than a chiwawa and threw the whole damn lighter in over her shoulder. Kept her fit, though.

Things fell quiet for a bit. Gen wondered how on earth she hadn't been lonely in the years before hunting with the Winchesters.

She spent a few weeks cruising around youth hostels, common hunting grounds for bitey things. It was a solid distraction from recent events and could be pretty fun. Her favourites were the demons. They always had some drama going on, always a desperately important personal vendetta or some vengeful oath. Lordy Lordy. For a long time she'd end up on the Kleenex end of some other drama too, a romance or scandal, but as she'd gotten older she developed an eye for that shit. The only sideline thing Gen bothered with these days was abusive types. She'd become quite proud of managing her own tears, but it didn't do much for quashing her frustrations and this was a rough week for the idiot men who went for more than was offered. She was careful to stop short of hospital-level punishment.

Then came a perfect hit. Some rich guy had unknowingly bought his mistress a cursed amulet. She'd been killed by the attached spirit and, after removing all evidence of their activities, he found his wife was now similarly threatened when he'd o-so-tastefully regifted the item to her.  A friend of a friend of a friend of an acquaintance gave him one of her numbers and a few days later she was texting Sam another town and state. This was the kind of job she hung out for. Long story short: by the end, the guy was that scared, and his wife was that close to finding out, Gen was able to extort twice a year's minimum wage from him. It went a long way to extending her inheritance from her parents' will. Yey for the Greater Good.

From Sam's replies, it seemed they had been busy too. Around the last full moon, Sam had texted the town they had last worked, but hadn't asked for help so she assumed the best. Gen was glad they were busy and doing well without her, again. But she tried not to think about that. It was hard not to feel like she was drumming her fingers.


	13. Caught out

Dean parked the Impala in the 'car park'. He assumed it was the 'car park' thanks to its shape and lack of trees. But there were no other cars and no one – in years – would park there. The building at the other end of the space was flat and grey, years of wind and rain having worn the white paint off the boards. It was hard to tell what it had ever been. He and Sam sat there and looked at the building.

"I can't even see the entrance," Sam sighed.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Whole thing stinks… Alright, let's see if we can save this kid."

Sam pulled out his phone and began typing. Dean looked over at the brightness. "What're you doing?"

"Texting Gen."

Dean tripped a bit. "Why?"

"She's an hour away," Sam answered, frowning at his screen. "I'm asking her to start driving if I don't text in thirty minutes."

They were quiet as they collected their gear, when Sam receiving a reply from Gen. "She says she's headed east tomorrow anyway, so she's gonna start driving now. We can tell her to skip it if we're good," Sam reported.

Dean chucked out a "Cool," and his brain went _Ooooor we could have a beer, check she's okay, see how she's doing, it'd be rude not to say hi after she's_ -

"You here?" Sam said.

"Yeah!" Dean shrugged. "I'm good."

They headed for the building under cover of forest keeping to the shadows of the half moon. Skulking around the overgrown grounds, it was hard to see anything. They needed their own torches to keep from tripping over and the building was dark.

"How do you know?" Dean whispered to Sam.

"What?"

"How do you know she's an hour away?"

"Coz she told me," Sam whispered back harshly.

"When?!"

"I dunno, when she got there?" Sam answered.

"What? Sam-" Dean stopped to drag him behind a larger tree. "Why do you know where she is?"

"Whenever we work in a new town we text each other," Sam said, waiting for him to understand.

"Why?" Nope, not understanding.

"For exactly things like this, Dean." Sam explained. "Nothing else."

He took a moment to think of the past weeks, two months' worth now, of pretending to not wonder about her and how she was. "Talk about it later."

They went to head off, but Dean backhanded Sam in the shoulder. "No, lemme see," he demanded and put his hand out for the phone. Sam rolled his eyes and sighed.

Dean woke the little screen and scrolled up the previous conversations. He read the list of towns that were sent back and forth and, in the later ones, the little chats about places they'd been before – "Try Sally's burgers", "I think Sally done gone died. That was rank", "I meant, as a job", "othanks now I'm the job". Freaking banter. He missed her. He missed that with her.

"Dean," Sam could see his face in the electronic glow, and some sort of emotion being managed. "She's by herself, and-"

"Woulda been nice to know Sam," he said, slamming the phone into Sam's chest. He went back to their task and decided to forget it for as long as possible. The more things got screwed up the further away from him she seemed.

Low shrubs flanked the sides and they found a covered entrance around the back. They went carefully, using only weak moonlight now, but both were conscious of how many spots they couldn't safely flush.

They readied their guns, devil's-trap bullets loaded, and shifted carefully around the doorway. As Dean went for the handle, he barely heard the sounds of rustling fabric before the awful noise of Sam being struck across the head. Dean turned to see a large shadow standing over Sam's fallen body. He raised his arm, demon knife in hand, but didn't see the second one come from behind.

* * *

Gen pulled up the car as soon as she saw the hard lines of the Impala in the moonlight. She wore a beanie to disguise the shiny hair and set off as quickly as possible, cutting a fat curve around the area. From the side she spotted two goons guarding the entrance. She took a minute or so to see if there were more, but it seemed like a small party. Edging closer, taking her time, she could see a light on inside and began to hear someone talking. It seemed someone was angry with the Winchester boys. Didn't really narrow the field. But the guy was grand, at least; his pitch danced, he had flourish. He liked a speech.

Closer still and she heard a reply, the low sass of Dean rolling through the windows. Gen expected she would be nervous to see him again but she was surprised to find herself so anxious. The desire to be by them and see that they're okay was almost overwhelming. She digested the feeling and pushed it down. As she went to move again, Dean raised his voice and she knew, instantly, something had gone wrong. She could detect the desperate warning in whatever he'd said. Her chest bounced with her breath, hating to hear him distraught and she worried for Sam but, almost as quickly, realised Dean would be worrying about her coming to save them. Ah well, she thought, he'll get over it eventually.

Gen went a little further, cutting deeper into the undergrowth and directly in front of the entrance. She'd recently tried using old school arrowheads etched with little devil's traps and found it worked as well as the bullets. So, from within the branches, she lined up her first goon, second arrow beside her and ready to reload. Once the first was got, in the thigh, the second advanced toward her. Gen watching him come and breathed evenly while going through the motions she could execute behind her back, then aimed and shot again. He dropped to his knee rooted to the spot. Both made enough noise for her to give up trying to be a surprise. She ran toward the closer demon and kept herself out of arm's reach while she ducked down to use him as a shield from the other and the entrance. She quietly performed the exorcism and checked the pulse of the vessel, with no luck.

Dashing to the second, she saw he'd pulled out the shaft and but head had remained. She almost whispered the Latin this time, faster than she's ever attempted, watching the front door throughout. The stinking black smoke was chilling as it slipped over her back and disappeared into the forest. The second vessel showed no signs of hope. She ran sideways and hid in bushes in case someone came out to inspect. But no one did. She figured he must be waiting for her.


	14. Pleasepleasepleaseplease!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen does her darn-diddly-hardest to save the brothers.

Gen listened and waited. Whoever was holding them was starting to sound peevish and annoyed. She had her crossbow and decided that it would be the weapon to sacrifice. The talking stopped.

Creeping to the unguarded door, she eased it open and made her way through a small foyer. Dean came into sight almost immediately. He was kneeling, sitting on his propped feet, hands bound behind him. Beside him, Sam was also tied but out for the count. His position was so awkward like he looked dribbled down from the roof. She recognised Dean's neutral expression, and then where his eyes directed.

Gen whipped herself through the doorway and aimed at the spot he indicated, but instantly found herself disarmed. She yelped helplessly. "Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!" she prayed, "Please don't hurt me!" Gen squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists in hope. When nothing happened she squinted to peek and noticed the body of a man leaning against the wall, blood pooled around him. She put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes moaning "Oohm'god".

The demon smiled and tilted his head. "Of course I won't hurt you, sweetie," he drawled. "You're okay."

Gen's eyes darted between Dean and his captor. She looked sorry already. Dean's jaw dropped and he began to fight panic.

"Come closer cupcake," the demon gestured, "What's your name?"

"Genevieve," she answered, walking to him almost sideways.

"Did you best my two boys out there?"

"Sort of," she shrugged, hands pulling at the cuffs of their own sleeves. "Dean taught me how to do it. A few months ago." Dean noticed her beanie and suddenly it looked like a dorky overshoot.

"Really?"

"I just did it how he said."

"Right, and how did he say?" the demon asked politely, lacing his fingers together.

Gen looked at the wall, pretending to remember the words. "He said 'Do it without touching them'. So I engraved devil's traps into the arrow heads." She half smiled, apologetically. Dean and the demon were both impressed. "And then I exorcised them. In Latin." Quick shrug. She noticed Dean's expression drop. "In Latin"?

"Right," said the monster, "must watch out for arrows in the future… My name is Anthony by the way." And he walked away. "You know, if you try to run, I can stop you from here."

Gen nodded anxiously. She pinched at the seams of her jeans. Anthony now leaned against a chair, in front of Dean and to his right. Gen saw the demon blade on the seat.

"So, Genevieve," Anthony said, an idea coming to him, "you have the poor misfortune of a big decision." He took a few steps back towards Gen. "I want to kill Sam."

Gen looked at him on the ground and let a small "No" escape. Her eyes darted between them all.

"But," he continued, "Dean doesn't agree with me. He thinks I should kill him."

Her face dropped in dread.

Anthony turned to her and asked, deliciously, "What do you think?"

"What?" she asked, colour draining.

"Who do you think I should kill?" he clarified.

"No. I can't decide," Gen's shook her head in short little twitches, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I can't do that."

"But you must, sweetie," Anthony leaned in. "You will."

Gen looked at him desperately, pleading with her eyes. He looked expectant. She shook her hands vigorously and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Ummm," she whined, "I don't know! Dean?" she looked at him, "I don't know!"

"It's okay, Gen," he said firmly, still not sure she hadn't actually gone to shit, "you don't have to say anything."

"Mmmm!" Gen was practically dancing on the spot, "I don't know! Is it Dean?" Dean closed his eyes and tried not to shake his head.

"I don't know," Anthony said simply and came closer to Gen again. "Why should it be Dean?" He was terribly entertained.

"Well," Gen began, crossing her arms over her head, "He's older? And I can say sorry to him before he goes."

"Oh," Anthony put his hand to his chest, "that is just precious."

"Wait!" she stopped, wide eyed and worried. "Is Sam still alive?! Is this a trick question?"

"He is still alive," Dean answered, barely covering his frustration.

"No! I know!" Gen almost stopped moving, except for the trembling in her hands and chin. "Is the answer 'me'?"

"Oh dear," Anthony rolled his eyes, smiling. "It might have to be." Gen began to make a weepy sound in the back of her throat while she looked at Dean for direction. Her cheeks winced, bottom lip pulled against her teeth.

Anthony turned again walking back toward the chair. Gen reached into her jacket as he began speaking - "What if I were to-" and in two quick motions, withdrew and threw a knife into his back.

"Ugh!" he gasped as he stumbled and grasped at his back calling _"No!"_ But Gen was already there, demon blade snatched from the chair, and she stabbed him through the chest as he stood paralysed.


	15. The Rules

Gen waited for the evil in him to burn out before she straddled the fallen body and pulled out both knives, one in each hand, and wiped them on its shoulders.

"Gen," Dean breathed.

"Yeah?" Gen sat back on her foot, still half straddling the dead body. "Hi."

He didn't know what to say. He stared. "I have…" …He had no words.

She pointed at the side of her own blade. "Devil's trap again," she revealed quietly. "You pleased to see me?" Not a hint of sass.

"Yes," he answered, still staring, "so much." Seconds were lost, but Gen couldn't maintain the eye contact and looked at the floor for mercy. Dean came to and said "We gotta go. He was going to trade us off."

"Was he the bait?" Gen nodded at the poor guy by the wall.

"Yeah," Dean explained as she cut their ropes, "we knew – we knew it was a trap – but what can you do when they pluck a random kid out of football practice, you know?"

"Yeah, demons are the original assholes… How are we going to get the big guy outta here? Drag him out on a chair?"

Dean leaned over his brother and grabbed his shoulder. "Hey! Sam!" he shook him, smacked him on the cheek. "Sammy!" He groaned and blinked, forehead willing his eyes open. Dean held him up and carefully said "We need to leave. Can you walk?"

Gen had collected her things and checked what looked like another exit. "We can get out here, into bushes."

They grabbed their things and, leaving the light on, made their way out the door, Sam grunting as he battled for equilibrium. Suddenly, car lights swung over the building, somehow so close already, and the trio crouched in the shadows and froze. Doors slammed as a second car arrived. Crunchy footsteps traipsed around the building. As soon as they were out of sight, Gen found a gap in the undergrowth and pushed her way out, showing the way for Dean to lead Sam. She spotted an actual path to their right, dirt thankfully, not gravel, and they bolted away from the building. Sam found his feet as they ran, deep breaths slowly washing away the fuzz. His concussion was the only way Gen could've kept up with them.

The boys skidded into the Impala and Gen barrelled on to her own car beyond. As Dean started the engine, he could see the cars back at the building begin to light up. He paused the Impala behind Gen's car while she turned it around. She pulled away quickly but didn't floor it, conscious that Dean's engine would prompt a chase if they seemed to be escaping. A few hundred yards and the first straight road she meets, she guns it, furiously leading them away, straight for sealed roads and freeways to get the distance. Sam turned to look behind them and it seemed their getaway had been a success.

They kept driving, getting an hour of distance, and at the next decent town, Gen led them off the freeway, around the back of the main streets and wound her way to a service station. They parked side by side and everyone got out and stretched their legs.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked her. "Your sat nav chasing a moth?"

"In case we were being followed," Gen answered patiently. "You should check your car for a tracking device."

"You serious?" Dean asked. He wasn't pissed but unsure.

"Why not?" she asked, "We got away pretty easily." She looked at Sam as he leaned beside Dean. They had no answer, so ran their fingers over the two vehicles, behind the wheels, inside the hoods. Then Dean found something, taped under Baby's fender – a pouch of hoodoo junk. "What the fuck?" he'd growled. He had a proper look before removing it. No amount of swearing would match his mood. "Son of a bitch! Goddam assholes sticking shit to my car, what the freaking hell?"

"You think this was theirs?" Sam asked, turning it over.

"I couldn't give less of a shit who's it is, Sam," he snatched it back and threw it on the ground. "I didn't put it there, so it can get fucked." He pulled out his lighter, but Gen remembered something.

"Wait! Open it first, check you're not triggering something," she warned. They pulled it apart and Sam looked it over with his torch. "Yeah," he confirmed, "it's a flag. It needs crushing, not burning." He pulled out a little bone and snapped it between his fingers. "Twice in one night, Gen," Sam shook his head, "don't know how we've survived this long without you."

"Uuum how concussed are you?" she asked. Oh yeah.

"Touche," Dean admitted. "Meanwhile, I'm too hungry to think. Back soon."

Sam stepped away to make an anonymous call about the building, something about shots fired, yadda yadda, something to get the cops out to that boy's body.

Gen watched Dean walk off, wondering which direction he would take things. She really had no idea where they were at, and was finding it hard to think clearly about the situation without a series of preferred activities flashing through her mind.

Sam interrupted her. "So, hi!" he said. Gen grinned back, "Hi! How are you?" and they chatted. They caught up. She couldn't let go of how good it was to have a familiar face to talk with, someone she knew, who was nice and cared for her. She felt like it was reciprocated, because it was. Sam had missed her too, missed her asking after him. Dean appeared, food in hand, shared it around and they ate for a bit.

As he focused on his burger, Dean turned to Gen and asked "How would you feel about Sam driving your car?" He glanced at her. "We could catch up."

"Sure," she nodded, recrossing her legs as she leaned against his car, "if he's fit to drive, sounds good. He can follow us to my next town." Sam nodded as he ate.

Dean finished his food, leaning against Gen's car, watching people come and go. As Gen scrunched up her wrappers he remembered something. "By the way," she looked at Dean's shoes, "you should probably know that I would've said you."

Dean looked at her and she raised her eyes to him when she swallowed. She clarified: "If I'm ever cornered into picking which one of you lives, it'll always be Sam." She stood to chuck her rubbish in a nearby trashcan.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "Gen," Sam began, getting off the car, "you don't-"

"I expect you to do the same," she looked at Dean, "and I expect Sam to choose you. Every time. Without fail."

"Gen!" Sam was incensed, "you can't just lay down a rule. Circumstances might change how-"

"Yeah, Sam, you can. See how I just did? The rule is: You choose your brother over someone you've known less than a year." She faced him squarely and laid it down. "It goes innocent citizen," she used her hand to show the high-water mark and moved down, "you, Dean, anyone else you like, then me."

Dean was watching her carefully. He had a hunch.

"Being related isn't everything," Sam said weakly.

"Well, when I chose," she said plainly, "it didn't make a difference but it was the right thing to do. I don't regret a thing."

"You had a brother?" Dean checked. She looked at him, hesitant but not upset.

"Yeah, a younger brother," she breathed in, "I don't need to talk about it. I'm just… letting you know."

She watched Dean watch her, rolling it over in his head. Sam's stern words broke her away from it. "I'm sorry. Gen, I'm so sorry you lost your brother… but don't bet on your rule making things easier in those times."

Gen looked at Sam steadily, her glare pinning him down, pushing him back a few moments to reflect upon what a wretched comment that was. He writhed a little against it, and Dean watched the comeuppance like a voyeur. When she did speak, it was like knocking bone on stone. "You think that would be easy… for me…?"

Sam swallowed solemnly, shifted, and conceded. "No. Of course not… sorry."

Gen softened her expression a little, in forgiveness, and Sam didn't register that he'd nodded it back to her. Dean was riveted at how Sam could apologise so well. He couldn't explain how he felt about Gen.

Dean gave them a break. "It could keep the bastards from using us against each other, if they knew we'd already chosen."

"No, it wouldn't," Sam said grimly. "It really wouldn't."

A beat passed. Gen pulled out her car keys and threw them to Sam. "Alright. You want the real reason? You," she pointed at Sam casually, "would forgive me." She opened the passenger door. "Could you imagine, after that decision, sharing a planet with him let alone a car trip? Ugh! Not this little black duck. Sorry little brother: you get to live."


	16. Warm and cool

"How 'bout you scootch over here," Dean said smoothly.

Gen squinted down the road, wondering how much Sam was watching their silhouettes from her car behind them. "Yeah, that's kinda the shit I was talking about."

"What? I'm being affectionate!"

"You're being hot," she looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow and pouted, nodding ohyeah. "And ten minutes ago you were being cold just because someone else was there." Eyebrows down. "It's a big flag. A great big waving neon flag. With flames." She wiggled her fingers in the air to gesture the burning flag.

Dean chewed on his tongue. He knew she was right.

"Well, you seemed to deal with it just fine," he grumbled. Stupid pride.

"You think it doesn't affect me that much?"

"I dunno. You just seemed to leave rather easily."

"You mean the part where I left something like a home – where I drove away from the only two friends I have – so I wouldn't have to tolerate you ignoring me? …Unaffected my ass," she grumbled.

Safety in silence.

"I'm matching you. Coz you being distant fucking undoes me," Gen said looking at nothing in particular, indignant and defensive. "It hurts my feelings. I just copy you to feel some alliance."

A weight dropped onto Dean's chest, and he stared at the darkness ahead as she confessed. Now he felt it, acutely, how much he'd pushed her away and left her outside and wondering, how cruel it had been.

He was sore with guilt, but quickly shook it off and grew up. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise. You were right to leave."

"That's cos you wouldn't look at me to see." Gen breathed a little, and cut him a break. "If I were in my 20s, or whatever, I might've tolerated the crazy weather just to be near you, hope for something between shrugs, but I'm your age, Dean. Your _actual_ age. Sometimes I've got be my own big sister."

That's right. She was a big sister. Dean remembered and said nothing out of reverence, but Gen wasn't about to get something out of nothing. To her, the car had become some kind of waiting room.

After a while, her mind wandered and she shared where it went, because it wasn't a 'let's share this lovely silence' silence.

"I can't remember what it was like before you two." She turned to look at him while he watched the road. "I remember what I did, but not how I felt. I don't know why… You ever hear about those people who didn't learn to speak till they're adults and then they can't remember anything from before language? One of them said it was just darkness…"

Dean nodded understanding and glanced at her, encouragingly. He wasn't sure why she'd said that. He couldn't see the context for the trees. He was ready to hear more but there wasn't any. Reading from her journal now seemed and too heavy for tonight and a misjudged idea. Gen turned back to the road.

Still, it was a share. He wanted to give something back, to make up for his icy treatment, but didn't have an equivalent story. At least, nothing that would fit into the car trip, nothing that would work without some whisky. "I worry that you'll be used against me. If we're together."

Gen squinted a little in thought. "You dropped everything for a stranger earlier today. Knowing it was a trap."

Dean's driving slipped into automatic for a moment, his mind occupied with her point. She thought aloud, "What's the use of skipping good bits? Unless you're only fighting for everyone else…"

Neither of them pursued it. Gen knew she was poking at his special flavour of martyrdom. She looked out the window idly, preparing herself for life beyond the car trip, once again visualising a series of predictable, unexciting, futures…

"I missed you," Dean offered, "like crazy."

He looked, hoping for some sort of reaction, but she only let her eyes shift over in his direction. He went on, offering it up like a white flag, "We actually stumbled a bit in that first week. We forgot you were gone a few times and almost got cornered. Sam and I were like 'Damn, where's the archer?' And I missed your sass. Sam just isn't…"

"Not flirty enough?"

Dean considered. "Yeah, that may be it. He's certainly not beautiful enough."

"C'mon, he's pretty... and thanks you, both," she said amiably. "It is nice to be missed for those things." Missed by you and Sam, she noted, for skills. She smiled nicely and then she slumped into the seat and frowned at the road, realising that he still hadn't decided. The sign for the city limits flashed passed.

"Sooo," Dean tried again, "How's about that scootching?"

"No," she replied, "I don't feel like being cuddly."

"What? You don't even wanna touch me?" he griped.

"That's really not what I said." If she got her head into the crook of that neck, there isn't a crook that'd be left untouched. It wasn't safe. Cuddling could come after, if anything came. "We'll be there in ten minutes."

Gen spent that time being frustrated at herself. She couldn't describe what she'd hoped for, but that conversation was rubbish. What the hell had they even talked about? He hadn't explained what he wanted. She hadn't made it clear that her question hadn't moved. She got the impression that Dean felt things were better than they were.

And he did. He formulated a plan to make the jump, to mash it all together and give her a thanksgiving-sweet performance. He was so proud of himself.


	17. Cheer Goggles

They pulled up to the motel and Sam was there, ready to lean on the Impala's window frame. His cheery face dropped away when he saw Gen look at him from under her eyebrows, and then he blinked back a wince when we saw Dean's incongruent grin.

"I- I'm going to get us a couple of rooms," he offered.

"Good," Gen said flatly.

"Great," Dean added happily.

Sam pinched a smile. Shit was somehow more strained.

Gen skipped looking back at Dean as she got out of the car and collected her bag from her own trunk. She waited, letting it hang against her shins, leaning against the wall. Dean was busy with equipment. When Sam returned, Dean caught his eye. "We should have a drink," he suggested, gesturing for Sam to go along.

"Yeah!" Sam caught on fast, "something to wrap up a win." Gotta back a brother up.

"Guys," Gen was already rolling her eyes in reluctance, "I'm not-"

"Just one Gen," Sam draped a heavy arm over her shoulders, "you've earned it."

They flung their stuff down, Gen dropping hers by the door, and Dean hopped to with the liquor. He began as he poured the last one, "Alright Sam, you gotta see how this went down."

"Really?" he sipped his drink.

"Oh! Mmmy god! Okay, hang on," he pulled a chair over near the end of one of the beds, "okay, you sit on the bed there. You're me." Sam sat. Gen had softened on her first sip but was leaning back a lot right now. "You're you," he pointed at Gen, "I'm Anthony, the chair is a chair."

"Aha! Awesome!" Sam put his drink at his feet and clapped his hands. "Where am I?"

 _Okay then. We're back to goofy friends then? Alrighty_. Gen went over to the neighbouring bed and grabbed the quilt cover, hoiking it up and down a few times so it sat in a messy peak. "This… is you on concussion."

"Okay," Dean's gets his jacket off and waves Gen through the beginning of her meeting Anthony, "skip the part where you first walk in- Except! He disarmed you and you said…?"

Gen looked at him for a quarter second. She could see he was trying to go back to Life Before Fling. She'd prepared herself for this. At least it's a fun way to segue. In the seconds it took to put her drink on the table, she'd gotten herself back into the mode of three month ago. Complete acceptance was put aside for later.

She went back to her spot, centre stage. "Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasedon'thurtme!" she said, bracing herself and squinting at Dean.

"What?" Sam asked, amazed. "No!"

"Yeah, Sam, she went for it!"

They recreated the whole thing, as best they could recall, Dean setting up his favourite parts and repeating her lines like a little brother.

Sam was loving the show, and not for anyone's benefit. Gen rolled her eyes in embarrassment, flared her chin at the compliments and frowned her smiles at Dean, willing him to tone it down.

"Is the answer 'me'?" Gen asked pathetically. Sam spit his drink a little and wiped his chin.

"Oh dear," Dean said, camping it up as much as his wrists would allow, "it might have to be. And Sam, watch this, he turns and she-" Dean looks at Gen, "can you do it, like in realtime?"

"Okay," she laughed, bemused. Dean went through the motions and she played it out as it happened, sitting on his legs to fake pull out the fake knives.

"And then she _wipes them on his shoulders_ ," Dean said from the carpet. Sam is clapping heartily, nodding through a drink-filled smile. Dean rolled under her weight, leaning on his elbows with her on his lap. Gen didn't get up yet, not wanting to seem repulsed or rude.

"I'm telling you Sammy, I've never been more petrified and more impressed at the same time," Dean laughed, looking directly at Gen.

"Man, it's a good thing I was out. I would've lost my shit at that," Sam shook his head. "You got some big hairy balls, Gen."

"Sam," she glared, "you know how I feel about balls... Vagina's are way tougher."

Dean sat up and Gen had no choice but to look at him. She didn't recognise his smile. He collected her head, hand behind her ear, and kissed her. A plain, soft, warm kiss. When he looked at her next, she seemed surprised, so did it again, like it was in italics. Then, when she looked at his mouth, and he instinctively pulled her in for a deep, inhaling, tasting kiss. Sam had to look away.

When he felt he'd made his point, Dean's was waiting to see what she'd say about that. Gen was quiet and neutral.

She squeaked a polite smile out the corners of her eyes and said "I'm going to go and take a shower," as she stood.

Sam caught her before she got too far. "Thanks again Gen, for coming for us. It was…" he waved his hand over the stage and she caught it as he searched for the word.

"Any time," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm glad you're okay."

By the time she turned to look at Dean, he was standing, feeling good about a job well done. All was as it should be. All was square. She smiled again, and Dean thought he could see contentment, or something peaceful, at least. Half right.

After Gen left, it took a few moments for conversation to strike up again. They talked about the hunt, the end, the victim. Sam asked about Gen.

"So what's the go?" he leaned against the kitchenette.

"I think it's good," Dean nodded.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Dean opened his mouth and closed it. He thought… "It's on," he nodded confidently.

"It's on?" Sam repeated. "It's on how?"

"Like it was!"

"Uh, you just kissed her. 'Like it was' was friends," Sam was annoyed, "and now she's in her room _by herself."_

"No Sam," Dean faced him to clarify. "It was great friends; we had an awesome friendship. Goofing around and flirting and everything. And then we had great sex and a great date. So now it's friends plus." He turned to his bag. "If she wants to have a shower, I'm not gonna smother her, just like we were before. She's a smart woman, Sam. She can see what I'm saying."

"I don't think Gen is on that page, coz if I didn't get it, she sure as hell won't. Dean, I think she's rattled," Sam warned. "And I think she meant for you to follow her."

Dean carried on a moment before he paused, doubting himself. "You think?"

"Well, if you're so confident of how things are, what else would be expected of you?" he rested on this.

It took Dean another moment to decide. "I'll just go check," he muttered and headed out the door.


	18. Catch water

Gen had showered with a concussed heart. Washing her body and hair was like a cleansing ritual. She'd readied for bed, her condition barely better, vision a little less tunnelled. She'd wondered if she should give him more time tonight, feeling easily able to watch the sun rise over that. She'd wondered if she should go and talk to him, or text him, but then he hadn't contacted her for any reason... She should at least leave a note. She was pinned between places.

Dean didn't knock on her door. He registered that the bedside light was the only one on, but was startled by Gen beside him. At least she was there. He hadn't realised how afraid he was that she'd gone again.

"Where the hell have you been?" her tone was sassy, but it came out so quietly. Leaning against the wall beside the door, in an a-shirt and pyjama pants, Gen was pressing the back of her head against the wallpaper.

Dean closed the door soothing "Hey, Gen, I-" and almost made contact.

"Where have you been?" she asked again, pushing off from the wall. Even though his instinct was to comfort her, he was lost and stumped.

"I-" Dean was shorting out. He raised his hands to rub her arms, a default gesture, saying "Gen-"

But she knocked him away, arms up between his, banging the bones, and shoved his chest. He winced at it. Got him right where it hurts. Then she grabbed his shirt to haul him into the wall where she'd stood, ramming her forearms against his chest. "Were have you been?" she pleaded hotly.

Dean watched her, shocked at her state. His hands were up in surrender, ready to apologise for everything.

She had never seen him so worried.

 _Why am I even going here?_ she cried to herself, _why can't I just take what's offered? Why put us through this drama?_ Yet she couldn't help it. She'd fallen and she couldn't get up.

"I- I'm sorry," he whispered. It wasn't a flimsy apology. He'd been tasting regret for months.

Gen gritted her teeth as she felt her face water. "Ugh!" she dropped her head between her elbows, "I waited…"

It occurred to him then, what she'd said in the car, that she'd been through so much, and that he'd been drip feeding his intimacy after a long drought. He felt like a prize asshole. A self-centred, short-sighted asshole.

His hands now hovered by her shoulders. "Gen, I'm so sorry," and let her rock against him, pushing his air out, "I'm here." He bit the inside of his lower lip.

Gen picked her head up, trying to work away the tears before they broke the bank. "I'm so angry at us… I'm sorry, Dean," she said, looking at her fists on his chest, "I wish I wanted you less than this. Less than you wanted me." She hated how pathetic is sounded, but would not feel ashamed.

Gen pushed off him and walked away, far away, to the opposite wall by the bathroom door, and paced a little, deciding what to do next, hands on hips, trying to navigate.

Dean got his breathing back to full depth, his cheeks still high watching the mess she'd become. "Gen, I don't… I think you're wrong about that," he said gently. "Of course you need someone. No one's supposed to…"

She threw a glare at him before she could stop herself, making him pause. Talking in general terms wasn't helping; she wanted the specifics that related to him. He was supposed to say he wanted her. Dean retreated a bit, asking "Why are you all the way over there?"

She puffed out her mouth and tried to relax, thinking for a moment and eyed him off… "I am Dean's emotional distance." Arid sarcasm. It made his ribs bounce.

"I got whiplash," she said fatly. "I thought you were saying you'd chosen buddies, like before… and then you kissed me."

"Yeah… I can see how that could happen," he conceded. "I've been pretty… vague."

"I've seen concept boards with clearer messages." Gen's chin betrayed her and the tears broke, but to her relief, she was beyond sobbing confessions. She was sad, regretful, but contained. "It's not _just_ that I haven't got anyone," she said gesturing, and then cut off that therapy session with flat hands. "I just… I'd really prepared myself for any outcome, and when I thought it was the platonic one…" Dean shook his head and started walking toward her, because he wanted her comforted and he didn't want anyone else to do it. Suddenly he couldn't figure out how his pissy reasons not to have her had stopped him. He wanted her with him. He wanted her to know it and to banish any thought of rejection as soon as possible.

"I'd let go of anything else," Gen continued. He wrapped her in his arms even though she rested her fists against his chest, her forearms between them. She rested her forehead on him as she explained, as he kissed her hair. (At least he knew her well enough to not interrupt.) "But when you did that, in front of Sam, pretty much _exactly what I've been asking for_ , I had this sharp, this stinging-" She lifted her head to look at him, determined to take care of herself one more time, and pointed at him from one of her fists. "When it ends, this time, it will be in a regular way, okay? With a warning. Like because of arguing, or stale sex, or a monster. Nothing cryptic. Nothing distant."

He looked down at her, sighing unsteadily, determined to fix something right. "I promise, when this ends I will not be a jerk," he said solemnly. She breathed out. "You know," he tried lightly, "only two of those are likely." Dean looked her over, white-knuckled, red eyed and shiny in the light, and repeated, "We'll finish either because of our work, or because it ends."

"The usual ways," Gen nodded, brow fierce. "Anything else is verging on abusive... Please don't just snatch it away." Her words were wet with hurt, her tone almost wrenching her away stability.

Dean looked at her, seeing how it was true, and nodded in remorse.

Her eyes welled and she dropped her face down to cough, or laugh, both of them feeling her on the edge of weeping for her loss and loneliness, and its reprieve. But when she raised her head she was breathing through pinched lips and staving it off for another time. She blinked, seeming to suck the moisture back, only to look up and see Dean sad as well. The thought of her ever being lonely and sad was leaning on his heart so sharply - it felt like a neat little stake with the words "fickle bastard" engraved on its side. He knew - _knew_ \- that so much of her grief was before his time, but still... As he tried to keep his lip from quivering, his eyebrows tilted and he steadied his breathing. Gen kissed him quickly, holding his face close, and again, feeling him tremble against her mouth, a thread of grief falling.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "Gen, I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I'm sorry I took it back and that I didn't call, after you'd lost so much and been alone for so long and that I didn't just do what I fucking wanted." Gen nodded and kissed him to control herself. Then he kissed her back bending her against him, cupping her head, hugging her waist, trying to prove the point without hurting her. She grabbed at his shirt and returned his passion with a desperate moan. The kiss broke, full lips puffing against each other. "Okay," she accepted. Their eyes met again and they took their time. They brushed each other's cheeks and breathed themselves calm, eyes and heads resting.

"Don't stay sad," she said softly. "It's done. I'm not leaving."

"I won't let you," he answered and lifted her face to see him say it again, full of regret and promise - " _I won't let you_ , Gen." Her brow cleared a little more and he relaxed some as she shifted her weight against him, slipping her arms under his and letting them rest on his back. She hugged his a little and smiled gently, hopefully. It was distracting. She was finally close again.


	19. What to do

It seemed they had bottomed out. Gen breathed deeply, looking up at the man in her arms, trying to relax about their closeness. Dean's gaze slipped down to her lips, then her chest, and back up to her eyes, because he's such a gentleman… She caught him out, her mind racing ahead to what might happen. She suddenly felt terribly sober and out of sorts, and not at all sexy.

"This is not how I hoped tonight would go," he lamented, resting his smile on her forehead.

"Pththth," Gen raspberried, "this and the fifty nights prior." You doofus. "I do really, _really_ I appreciate the effort you went to tonight. I'm sorry I misread it so badly. So let's start again. You," she said, taking Dean's wrist – why not hand? – and leading him to toward the door, "should knock this time and say 'Hhhhello'," she cocked her eyebrow and pouted suggestively, "'I hhev come to clean ze pool'."

"What accent is that?" Dean wondered.

"I dunno. What accent can you do?"

"German?"

"…Maybe you'll fix the oven." She almost made it to the door, but Dean pulled back.

"Wait, Gen," Dean took her hand and stopped her, "do you seriously want to role play?"

"No…" she looked at the floor. "Sorry…" She gave in to her anxieties, "how did that first night happen, again?"

He muttered to himself, "God I have seriously fucked this up," making Gen wince a little. "Okay, no more apologies," he said gently. "It's my fault. Let me make it up to you." Something like the regular Dean seemed to be back. He certainly didn't want to waste the night feeling sorry. He tucked her damp hair behind her ear and settled her into his hold a little. "How did you hope tonight would go?" Let's get fixin'.

Gen watched his lashes flick up and down as he considered her and she almost lost her place when his eyes finally fixed on hers. He came in close again while she formed her answer, nudging her with his nose. Normally, what was in Gen's head versus what got out her mouth was carefully regulated, but Dean's intimacy, the closeness, electrified her and the interference on those signals was wreaking havoc.

"I- I changed into pretty underwear before I started driving," she confessed. "Not sure my priorities were honourable, in that moment." Dean tried to stifle his giggle as he closed the space between them. He spoke with his lips against hers, holding back the something more. "Well, we've both made mistakes, I suppose."

The tickle of him was delicious, but… "I can't seriously look appealing right now," Gen said into his mouth. She did feel her tear-tightened face and half-dry hair gave her an air of crazed ex.

"You look here," Dean pulled back, and properly took her in, noticing her pyjamas, "and ready for bed. I kinda like dishevelled on you." He was going gently. He sighed as he spoke, sliding his hands down her torso and pressing her into him and his gaze. "So… what do you want to do with me?"

That rumbling sentence was the sexiest thing she'd ever heard him say. What she should've done was pin his bones to the wall again, there and then. She should've pulled him in for some all-consuming kiss, held his lip in her teeth as she explained the bare minimum of needs, led his hand to Tumblr knows where, and gotten binge-drunk on his body and voice.

But Gen forgot she was still in full-disclosure mode and _actually thought about the question_. Damn interference. She paused a moment, then shook her head in denial. "No, I can't tell you that yet. It's-"

"Wait, tell me all what?" Dean stopped, his head popping up. "For one, that sounds damn interesting, and two, what's wrong with telling me what you want?"

"Nothing!" she agreed, "in theory. It's just…" He waited. "It's a lot! It's…" she was losing volume, "It's-"

"Is it kinky?" Dean asked, a soft smile contained.

"No!" Gen frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure," she lost focus, "it might be… I don't think so, but I don't really know… about… that stuff. Anyway, the point is it's-"

"Is there equipment involved?" he asked simply. Her blush was apparent, even from the single bulb. "Dean," she pleaded, "I promise, if we last long enough I'll tell you, but seriously, it's-"

"Personal," he helped her out.

"Yeah!"

"And intimate," he nodded.

"Yes-"

"We can take it easy," he shrugged, "try some ropes and things later."

"Yes please-"

"Maybe some toys."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "and look,-"

"Do you know what a switch is?"

"Uh, no. Wait, like from a tree?! Fuck nn-"

"No, it's not that. Don't worry," he said, tucking her head under his chin, "we'll go slow."

"Oh. Thanks," she said absently. "And look, I know it may sound strange that I'd keep that stuff a secret when we've done stuff like that already but oh my god how did this become a discussion you slippery son of a bitch." She was looking up at him, trying desperately to remember what she'd agreed to.

He smiled slyly. "Because I'm curious about what you wanna do."

Gen looked scared, or hopeful, he couldn't tell. "Well… that's what I was going to say," she admitted meekly. "You were so determined last time I was sure you'd have… plans. I don't know what I want. I don't know where to begin." Her brain was battling to regain the upper hand.

"Really?" he asked, settling arms hands around her waist, "You got that much material?" Maybe she's done some penting over the years.

Gen snorted softly, "Yheah. You could alphabetise it."

"Well, I don't know why you would want to skip the good bits…" Hmmm, touché. "So let's start at A," he suggested. Gen's eyes went blank, gaze slipping to his chest, her mind locking onto the first A she had imag- "Not… Nnno," she said steadily. "Not yet. Thank you." Her brain was losing.

God damn. Was that just too adorable or ridiculously tantalising? "How about H?"

Her brain popped out Handcuffs. "Uuuh," Gen's stare slid sideways, trying to decide if she was up for that.

"D?" Dom. Jeez, how suggestible can someone be? She squished her eyes but frowned wondering if they hadn't already done that a bit the first time… these kinks and their terminology.

"Gen, I'm the one making it up to you," Dean explained, looking down her as he adjusted his weight. "Tell me what you want…" He held her waist firmly and wrapped a hand behind her neck, getting her nose to nose, letting her know he wasn't shifting from her, from working on this debt. When he spoke he ground the words into her, demanding that she command. "I want to do what you want me to do... to you."

His force was galvanising. Gen discovered her desire with a shot of adrenaline. "P," she stated.

He paused, winced and slackened a little. "N- no, sorry, Gen. I'm not into-"

"Proof," she said firmly. Dean's eyes locked on her at the tone. "Prove to me how much you want me to stay." That's what she wanted. She wanted all doubt removed – not commitment, but conviction.

He considered her a moment. How would he achieve "don't go"? Desperation isn't sexy. "I was hoping for something more specific," he pouted crisply, testing her resolve, a little hesitant.

"It's too _vague_?" she raised him an eyebrow, referencing his behaviour. It was a big card to call, a little low. So she softened, ever so slightly, and threw him a line while she shamelessly stared at his mouth. "Please show me, Dean. There's nothing you'll throw at me that I won't want."

"I'm beginning to think that," he murmured. He was slowly getting it: she wanted to be wanted. Then he warned, "I'll have nothing left for later."

She blew it off, "You done being creative old man?" Gen moved herself against him, feeling his firmness, her confidence growing with it. Threading her fingers through the stubble of his neck, up the back of his head, she pulled him down to whisper against his ear, and mustered all the brazen abandon she could recall from their first night together. Maybe an unfiltered brain could be a good thing... "Pretend I'm not already wet and aching for you. Pretend you aren't the only man who's made me come," she felt his breath swear against her neck. "By the time that sun comes up I want nothing left of me."


	20. Hunches

“Shit Gen,” he pulled his head back to look at her, “shit… really?”

“I think so,” she confided, heart still racing from having burned her bra, so to speak.

“Jesus Christ.”

Dean’s hands were on automatic as his mind tried to clamber over Genevieve’s news and onto the task ahead of him.  He stole a few moments to grope around for something that would prove her importance to him and his care for her.

Gen breathed deeply, having thrown down the gauntlet, and waited for him to find his departure point.  When his eyes stopped dancing over her face, and his lips pulled into a slow, calm smile, she quickly felt a hopeful tingle creep up the back of her legs.  Because Dean is, if nothing else, an ideas man.

“Do you remember,” he asked, moving himself behind her to reveal the motel room door, “how we burst in that night?”  It wasn't this room, but there had been so many that any one was like another. 

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, tucked his chin into her neck and spoke softly against her ear as he recalled the post-bar scene.  Gen hummed at the shadowy memory, and at how she’d squashed the small voice screaming “You’ve brought him back to your room!  Drunk!  Abort!  Abort!”

“You almost fell into the table that was there, and I scooped you up onto your feet.  You held onto my hands.  You smelled so sweet.”  Gen looked at nothing; he’d remembered her hands.

He then walked her over to the sink, with an arm around her waist, and wrapped her fingers over the edge of the basin with his own.  “I sat down and you stood at the sink and took off your jacket, chucked it somewhere, and that was the first– no, the second, moment I really thought of you… like that.”

He rolled out his velvety words like a red carpet tour.  Gen listened and felt.  He swayed her a little and she curled into him trying to fill the gaps.

“I thought, Really? Just one layer?  And then I _knew_ ,” he rued with a kiss on her neck, “that my first thought – that we could drink together in your room without anything happening – was a flat lie and a lost cause.”

She smiled at the thought, and shared “Huh, I thought nothing would happen because nothing ever fucking did.”

“Yup.  No one respects tradition these days.”

“So what changed?”

“What changed…” he resettled his hold and took in another lung-full of recently-washed hair.

“Did I take my glasses off and let out my pony-tail or something?”

“Pretty much,” he confided, and listened to her breath heighten as he pressed her against the bench with his body.  “You reached for a glass.”

“I reached for a glass?”

Dean let her go and sat on a kitchen chair a few feet away, elbows on knees.  “Do it again,” he instructed, looking up at her expectantly.

She stood there, pyjamaed and crumply , but reached up to the top shelf like she had.  He dashed out of the seat, lips on the revealed dip of her pelvis, and held her up as she tried to balance herself against the tickle.  His face against her, his hair in her hands and his hands on her bones, it felt wholly delicious.  As she looked down at his eyelashes and jawline she recalled how dark it had been that night, and noticed that it was too dark now too.

“You didn't do that,” she reminded him, almost breathless.

“But I imagined it,” he grinned up at her, and removed his long-sleeved shirt as he stood.  “I lost seconds on it.  You were talking and I missed it completely.”  They looked at each other as the endorphins grew, smiles peeping back and forth like their lips were secretly winking at each other.

“So, you sat, with the drinks,” he led her to the other seat, “and I stretched out my legs, hoping for some contact,” and he leaned back, showing her what he’d done.

“No luck?”

“None, you goddamn lady,” he shook his head.  “You know, as I say it, I was desperate for you to touch me.”  He gazed at her and smiled crookedly, coming to his own realisations, while she tried not to grin.  “In fact, until we actually began, my mind flicked through a different start every time you did something.  Man…  I was horny as all shit for you.”

Gen laughed dryly, “You sure put the high in hyperbole.” 

“Don’t you fucking doubt me Woman,” he pointed and sat up.  “You handed me my drink and I just, I wanted to _suck_ on your wrist.  I had this image of my tongue on your pulse, all pale and soft fingers in my hand.  Then you downed your drink, all neck and jawline, and you put your hair up while you said something or other I have no fucking clue what that was about coz, shit, Gen…”

She inhaled his gaze, then cleared her throat a little to tone it down.  “Oh you missed out,” she toyed.  “I _believe_ it was terribly important, ” she crossed her arms, “something about explaining the purpose of life.”

“Demonstrating, more like.”

“You’re a smooth fucker,” she muttered.

“So I've been told,” he reached down and picked up her ankle.  “S’anyway, I realised that if I wanted anything I’d have to ask for it.  So I took your shoes and socks off under the premise of a foot massage, which you duly mocked-”

“Well, why didn't you just pull out a game of Twister?”

“-and I was secretly delighted-“

“Really?  Ugh, that’s good.” Gen was having trouble focusing, now that his thumb was into the knuckles of her feet.  “Why were you so happy about being mocked?”

“Because once someone drops the façade and admits there’s flirtery afoot… well, there’s nothing else for it, is there?”

“…Dang.”

Dean collected her other leg and slipped his fingers up the backs of her calves.  “And then I pulled you over,” he described as he leaned over to drag her chair towards him, “and stared you right in the cock-ed eyebrow.”

“Ha… Yeah, that was the turning point.”

“Sure was,” he swallowed, “and I made that stupid, stupid promise.”

“Yes, you did,” she recalled and chewed her lip.  “But I was stupid, too, for believing it.” 

She sat there, with her legs draped over his thighs, and he leaned his weight on the edge of her chair while he thought for a moment.  “I gotta tell you Gen, you undid me.”

His tone was so sorry, her face weakened and she unwound her arms from the defence line at her chest. 

He went on; “I've never had someone do what you did.  I mean, you know what you did, but what it did to me-”

“I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings,” she said, unable to recall her exact words.

“No, it was fun, at first, the way you kind of commentated all my moves.  I mean, I definitely played up to it.  I was Fabioing my ass off,” he looked up at her, “but I remember, when I’d finally gotten us both naked, and you were sliding all over me, heckling yourself and what we were doing, gasping and grabbing and even the faking it was so fucking hot.  After a while I didn't know what to say-”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Gen added, running her fingers up and down his arms in apprehension.

“I clearly remember, just before we got started, thinking Please, don’t make fun, I really want you to like this.  I so wanted you to like it, to _want_ me,” she had her hands at his chin now, caressing his lines and corners as he confided, “and thank God you got serious then coz I was that close to choking up-”

“Dean!  I'm so sorry,” she slid into his lap and cupped his head, deeply regretful and bitter, “I didn't mean to tease you.”

Dean shook his head as his hands slid up her back, “No, I didn't feel teased, I just didn't realise how much I wanted you to take it seriously, and it took me by surprise.”  He brushed her hair aside and she relaxed a little.  “I had imagined you gasping, and vulnerable, and looking into me, and wanting more.  I wanted… I wanted you surprised too, over me…  I think I wanted it to change everything.”

Then she unrelaxed a little.  Because he had imagined her.  And had wanted her.

She wanted to kiss him, so much, and give him what he wished for, but instead she swallowed tightly and prepared to trade a trump card because, funny story, “I remember thinking Don’t open your eyes.  He'll be looking at you, all gorgeous and lovingly, you'll give yourself over and you won’t come back. And you’ll never get it again.”

Dean’s hands slipped up to her cheeks too, fingers behind her ear and his voice quivered with intensity.  “Then you keep your eyes open this time yeah?”

She nodded for him. “You watch me,” almost asking.

“I'll be watching,” and he kissed her. 

She couldn't help it, instinctively closing her eyes upon contact, to feel his warm softness on her mouth and rough tongue on hers, to taste the unique flavour of this person again, his firm strength about her, but when she pulled them open again there he was, true to his word, with his eyes open and taking in every little thing they caught.

Removing their clothes hadn't been a thing.  It was the white noise to getting closer. 

And worrying about what the other wanted was there, but their hands were finishing each other’s sentences anyway, so they stopped worrying.

All that had frustrated them was how much they couldn't get into the corners enough.  Hip to hip, legs laced, breasts mashed, lungs crushed, lips pounded and fingers not goddamn strong enough, they threaded themselves into each other as far as things would go.  Dean rolled into her, watched her struggle to keep looking at him during the depths, the range of reach, when she breathed his name in answer to his efforts, he tried to record every gasp and ache she gave him.  She arched for him and sucked her teeth.  He heard the smack of her grabbing hands on the back of him, and knew what she meant when she pulled her fingertips up his waist and belly as she pleaded for it.  Even when he was forehead to pillow, he’d turn to see her and she’d feel his eyelashes on her cheek while she undulated beneath his smooth heat.

A light slipperiness soon set in.  Gen ran her hands down the back of his neck, smoothed his hair and caught his rhythm with her body.  “Slow down,” she whispered, reining them both in.  “You okay?” he checked.  “Mmm, I'm good,” she nodded, putting her forehead to his.  “You?”  Dean, groaning in response, tried stringing a proper sentence together.  “You feel too good,” he mumbled eventually.  He felt her pull him tight against herself and after a moment she stopped, still.  She ground herself down, smearing her softness against his bones.

He lifted his head to see her and she looked at him, looked over him.  He went to move again but she pinned him tighter and, as he couldn't much move anyway, he let her have the lead and they lay there entwined and silent.  His face gave up a hint of doubt and she all but whispered “Wait.”  So he did. 

She nudged his nose slightly and felt her body begin to fight the sensation of him motionless; such a vocabulary and no conversation, it was absurd.  

Dean watched, awaiting direction, trusting but hungry and itchy.  What a frustration for those parts, to hold the candy in mouth and be kept from sucking. They salivated, forced to wait for release.

In the stillness, the infuriating inertia slowly fizzled in her like a chemical reaction.  Where he was inside her, the space he made and demanded, her flesh there was begging to answer, to come down on him.  She felt the hum and its frequency slowly rising, felt it build like the ocean loomed behind her, but she was defiant and her bones held fast in anticipation.  

Gen opened her mouth slowly, Dean courteously matching her, and heavily tasted him, tongue on tongue, as her body began to storm the rebellion.  In seconds, it heaved a raging landslide of an orgasm at her, crashed it over her.  Dean barely registered her wracked moan, open throated and shuddering, as the surge took him by surprise, mercilessly dragged him along too, and he cursed God and son, unable to resist, pushing and tilting against her desperately.  There were aftershocks and waves of it, neither of them given a chance, and they panted like they’d been dragged from the surf. 

 

* * *

Sometime pre-dawn, Dean finally gave in to achy joints and unwrapped himself from her form.  He probably didn't have to hug her all the time.  But now he was awake and in the grey light he could replay things to himself.

Gen rolled into him and after a while he noticed that her breathing had become shallow.  He turned to look at her and she kissed him on the shoulder.  It was sweet and cool and comforting, and she brought herself alongside him, belly to waist, thigh to thigh.  

"I'm cuddling," she mumbled on an out breath.

"Yeah," he stroked her arm, "morning after cuddles."

"I've never cuddled before... S'not bad."

"Speaking of befores..." Dean began, tentatively.  "Did you know that was going to work?"

"What?" she mumbled into his muscle.  

Dean shifted.  "That... waiting."

Gen got on her elbows a bit, shuffled so she was leaning her chin on him and could see his face.  "Ummm... sorta.  I had a hunch...  I remembered the beginning of it from some other time."

"Well, for someone who says they've only had one orgasm, that was a pretty awesome hunch."

"H'yeah, turns out we've been doing it wrong all this time," she quipped as she fell back to put her head on the pillow.  Dean rolled onto his side so they were face to face.

"Who'da guessed?"

"All the thrusty-thrusty and the sweating and the pumping and ugh! So much work!"

"Amateurs! Well, now we know.  No more push-ups for me."

"Thank God huh?"

"Yes... thank God."

Slinky smiles and smooth hands...

 _"Or,"_ she shrugged, "my vagina is a dom."  She kept the shrug like yeah maybe that could be a thing.

Dean laughed openly, pulled her in as he giggled at the idea and Gen angled herself so she could see him happy: "Awesome.  I have to have sex with you _and_ your vagina."

"Yeah, it's like a two-and-a-half-some.  She's a moody bitch too.  Good luck."

"You know what though," Dean's hold gathered a little direction and the chuckles subsided, "that ain't the order of things.  We really should clarify who's in charge."

"Yes," Gen lapped up some more snuggling. "Yes we should."

He took a deep breath, the dawn light showing up the fresh colour in them both, and he felt pretty proud of the situation.  "Sweet Jesus... you're gonna be my apple a day, you know."

She sighed her smile, sunk into it, and then said "Hey... I just thought of something else for D..."

 


	21. Shits and Giggles

Dean sat with his shoulder to the window, his arm behind Gen along the top of the booth seat. He was wearing last night's clothes but was fresher than he had been in months. He'd pulled Gen into the seat beside him and seemed to be – short of doe eyes, gushing compliments and some cheesy double-entendre – doing all the gestures a boyfriend would do. She was taking a while to get used to it.

Sam was taking his time, somehow, getting to this little diner a few doors down. They'd already turned the waitress away once before Sam slid in opposite them. Dean, finally picking up the menu, chucked him a happy "Hey". Sam duly returned it, but for some reason when Gen said "Mornin'" she couldn't keep it straight: Her eyes immediately darted and her lips disappeared.

"Hey," Sam answered with the cheesiest teeth-chewing grin she'd ever seen. She barely got a chance to eyebrow that off before their waitress appeared again.

As soon as she'd gone, Dean pulled out the paper and started studying the obituaries. Gen wondered if he was actually avoiding Sam, who was wearing that grin like a prize turd.

"You alright there?" she asked, taking the bait since she was too uncomfortable to shake it off.

"I'm gooood," he purred, the little shit.

"You fuckin wanna go?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Innocence feigned, more grinning.

"The carpark's right there."

"Yeah? Right now?"

"Let's go little one, we can fit in a spankin' before your egg'n bacon."

They both made to stand, all jutted chins and cheeky, but Dean finally chimed in, "Woah kids. Oookay, okay. Don't make me get involved." He pulled on Gen's arm and faced the table properly to say to Sam "But that's the last time I save your smart ass."

Sam laughed it off and seemed to get back to normality, but Gen was realising it was going to take some time before this relationship reconfiguration would sit easy for her.

Coffees arrived, and Sam asked "So, what's in town?" as he glanced at Gen over his steaming cup.

"Yeah-yeah. I think there's a banshee," she blew on her too-hot drink, "… which might be nothing, or nothing bad at least. But it sounds like more and life was quiet, you know, so it was just what was next."

"Okay, cool," Sam shrugged. "How d'you hear about it?"

"Jeez it was so far removed," she put her cup down and leaned back. "I was checking out the local historical society to see if they had any useful texts on anything, coz it was _that quiet_ , and this school group is going through. I heard some kids talking about the incident and they were arguing. This boy had read about it, recognised this girl's surname, and had asked her if her uncle'd had a heart attack - the report said heart attack - and she was all "Yeah, well, it wasn't a heart attack, it was a curse and my aunty saved him coz our great-great-great aunty told her."

"Her great-great-great aunty?" Dean checked.

"Yep, three 'great's. Anyway, the guy, who was totally crushing on her by the way, paid her out for believing in curses-"

"-OMG, what a douchebag!" Sam mocked.

Gen mocked his Valley-girl right back "-I know right? Well, Jenna just owned that jerk. Got all up in his face and laid down _the truth_. For rella."

"I don't think I can stand you two doing this much longer," Dean moaned. He looked at Gen with something between pleading and warning. To which she replied by giving her coffee and long noisy slllllurp.

"Aw, fuck," he rubbed his face while Sam smirked. The food arrived and they all tucked in. Gen and Dean had gotten the same – deep-fried kitchen – and Sam had gotten salad, steak and eggs.

"Anyway, it seems like the banshee is a family friend, but I'm curious about what kind of heart attack would look like a curse."

"Why was it even in the papers," Dean asked, cheek full of bacon, "if it's just a heart attack?"

"He was the first patient of the town's new ambulance service," she cheerily quipped and popped some hashbrown. How's about that.

The brothers both made faces at the randomness of that luck as they munched on their food. They all took a few moments to get some grub into themselves.

"I like how you've bought a garden for your cow and your chicken," Gen gestured with her knife. "It's so rustic." She was beginning to think she wouldn't be able to manage a normal conversation with Sam ever again, the way they kept stirring each other this morning.

"Yours should come with a casket," he mumbled.

"Bitterness gives you cancer," she squinted her eyes into a shitty smile as she chewed.

"Bite me."

"Cancer again!" and then she thought better of it and made an effort. "Is it good though? Yum?"

He went along, thank goodness. "Yeah, the dressing is a bit unique, but it's all good."

And so the banter and chat kept on. Sam tried not to look when Dean's arm slip down her back, or notice when his hand was on her thigh, but he couldn't help watch her tense at those things and then soften when she looked at his brother. At least twice, he saw them lock eye contact, Dean breathing in her presence and Gen sighing out her tension, and it was like catching a flitting radio frequency.

After Sam had gone to pay, as he waited for them at the door, he saw Dean tell her something – probably along the lines of ignoring him - and kiss the side of her head as they left the booth. They looked easy together. As temporary as their luck ever was, Sam decided to back off a little, play nice, and give her a chance to get used to their good fortune. She was, after all, one of his favourite people.

And to that point, once they were heading out to the Uncle's farm, Gen found Sam in the backseat, ready to go. She leaned down to look at him through the window and he smiled kindly, which she quickly and gratefully returned.

Straight road was soon ahead and behind, and they settled into the hour-long trip, watching the farmland roll by under a batch of steady, grey rain. Dean had reached out for Gen's hand and she'd smiled at him goofily coz he really didn't have to do that but it was nice. After about half an hour, Sam piped up, finally.

"Uh, guys," he shuffled in his seat. "I got a bit of a situation here."

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"I think that salad was a bit dodgy."

Gen looked back at him. "You okay?" His colour seemed good, he wasn't sweating.

"No, I'm not too bad, but if you see a bathroom you should pull over."

"You gonna puke?" she quizzed.

"Nnnnope," he winced, twisting against the leather again. She looked at his seat, dread dawning.

"Dean… yyyou need to drive faster."

"Sam, there's nothin out here for miles," he was glancing in the rear-vision mirror. "It's totally rural. And raining. You want me to pull over by a bush? Or just head for the forest?"

"Uh," he squirmed, gripped his seatbelt, "I think… I think it's mostly gas… at the moment."

Gen turned around again "You wanna use a safety word or some- _ooooooohsweet merciful Jebus!"_ she put her hand over her mouth and nose. Dean pre-emptively wound down a window and leaned into the spraying breeze, thankful the rain was coming down on Gen's side. Sam wouldn't move a muscle. If he could help it.

Gen quickly cranked her window down too, just enough to keep from getting really wet. "Did you exorcize a cannibal?!"

"I'm sorry! It was the salad!"

Dean got a hint of the pong, "Oh my-" and tried to comment, "My GAHD! Sam! You're gonna die Sam!"

"Are you dead? Are you dying ass first?" Gen asked.

"Don't make me laugh!" Sam was mortified, both sets of cheeks fighting to hold it together. He needed his diaphragm to be _still_.

"You're killing the meat before you eat it right?"

"Cut it out Dean."

Suddenly Gen had a flash of their date at the fancy restaurant, the fart jokes that had irked the woman beside them, and how toe-tinglingly brilliant it was to make Dean laugh. Sam could save himself: there would be no mercy from her. Especially since it began to sneak around the fabric of her sleeve. It was very effluent.

Gen held her arm over her face like Count Dracula, to block the reek, and put on an accent to match. "Arr you sure, Samuel, it vos da salad? Vy ar-ent you puking it up? Hhhow did it get to your aaarse so kvickly?" Intense eyebrows.

"Please, stop Gen!" Sam wheezed, beginning to edge his hand under his backside.

Another stench hit her. "Oh Sam! Again?!" Gen turned back to her window, sucking in the wet air. "What crazy diet are you on? Can you finish it, please?!"

"I didn't go again!" he whined.

She whirled around to glare at him. _"It has layers?"_

Sam was laughing sadly now, and Dean bit down on his grin, but Gen wasn't holding back. "Good God. We're stuck in a box with the Willy Wonka of farts… Dean, we're gonna blow up into giant turds and he'll have to roll us back to the motel."

"It was the fucking salad," Sam bawled to the ceiling. "The dressing came from a fucking hex bag!"

"You do have a ridiculous diet Sam," Dean yelled into the wet wind. "What crazy celebrity thing're you trying now?"

"Some new suppository diet," Gen worked on it with him.

"Nah… Sam, would never shove crap… _up_ … his ass," Dean considered.

"No-no," Gen agreed. "No, it's all natural-"

"Stop the goddam car," Sam barked, undoing his seatbelt.

"Ohshit," Dean muttered and did what he was told. But it wasn't the emergency he expected. Sam got out of the car, more awkwardly than usual, and stormed down the embankment in the rain, to a fairly dense patch of shrubbery. Inside that, and the hazy rain, there wasn't much that could be seen or heard, even if you tried. Thank goodness.

"Honey, I forgot how good you were with fart jokes," Dean smiled at her longingly.

"You too, sweetheart. But then when have we had so much inspiration," she replied. "Poor guy. That was fucking rank. There's gotta be a brown cloud back there." They giggled.

Minutes later, Sam trudged back up to the car, opened the door and squeaked into his seat, huffily shaking rain from his hot head. Gen and Dean, though, had sympathetic faces.

"You okay?" she asked again. "Do you want to go back? It's no problem."

"No," Sam huffed, "I think I'm pretty much done."

Dean nodded, and wondered "Still got both your socks?"

"Nope."

"Youch," she muttered. "Well, well-managed there man. That was rough."

"Thanks," Sam sighed, and he truly meant it.

They drove on, the wet weather keeping up.

"Soo," Sam broke the silence, feeling like a little sport, "what's involved in a suppository diet?"

Gen turned and smiled at him before taking on a scientific seriousness. "Ahem. Well, I imagine… you begin your day with a nice nutritious, _warm_ broth enema. And then you just… snack in the afternoon."

"Snack? On what?"

"Oh, you know, grapes… olives…"

Dean helped out: "Cherries… sultanas…"

"Yeah… maybe the odd baby carrot," Gen added. Everyone pretended they weren't grinning.

"Bananas?" Dean asked. How could he resist? Sam scoffed at that one.

"Phwoar that's a lot of fffffibre," she considered. The brothers chuckled. " _Although_ , there is a smaller variety of banana-"

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked in mock hopefulness, giggling gently.

"Yeah, but really, I think it's just shorter. It's got the same…"

"Thickness?" Sam offered.

"No, there's a word…. choud?" Gen said. She reached over to gently touch Sam's knee in confidential advice: "It's called a _Lady Finger_."

The boys lost it there, both bursting into hearty laughter before Gen said "And between you, me and the Chinese Gooseberries, I hear someone can't get enough fibre…" she nodded at Sam furtively. "Hey Ffffriday... Where you been?" And then she covered her face with a hand, hardly believing herself. Sam and Dean had already dissolved into silent wheezing.

"You realise," Sam struggled, "Uhuh-huh, you realise we're talking about shoving food up my ass, right?"

"Don't shove sweetie. And it's because we care, Sam. That ass is very precious to us," Gen assured him. Then she winced, pretty sure she got another suspect whiff. "You sure you're all done there?"

"Sorry, the laughing probably got me."

Gen reached into her bag and pulled out a small pack: "Mint?"

"OKAY!" Dean cried, wiping his eyes, "Enough! Mercy! I can't see to drive!"

They let their giggles subside as best they could as Dean slowed the car into the bends of the forest.

"Oookay," Gen conceded in falsetto, "okay, yes," she cleared her throat sensibly, "We're probably going to a sombre conversation." At that same moment an ambulance silently pulled out of a driveway before them, a station-wagon close behind. Sure enough, it was the driveway they intended to use.


	22. Mabel Carruthers

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "Peaks and troughs, hey?" He pulled over to give them more time to settle. "You said the uncle survived, right?"

"Yeah," Gen confirmed, "I suppose this would have to be a new incident. Possibly nothing creepy… Sam, you ok to go in those clothes?"

"Yeah, I'm not that wet. Let's go."

Dean rolled them up the driveway to a sweet house in the woods. There was a police car out the front and two cops on the porch talking to an old lady, the aunt presumably. Strangely enough, as the officers came down the steps, they didn't approach. As one spoke into the radio on his shoulder, the other nodded at the Impala, and they both got in their car and drove away.

Some of the house was log-cabin and it had been extended with some red brick. Bushes of the small-flower kind were about the veranda and a nice big patch of some daisy-full grass lay before it. The portion of forest behind was quite close, with a brown wood shed and similar garage to the left. Beyond that were tracks to the fields and modern sheds; dense forest extended to the right. The area was crisp and fresh from pine needles and recent rain, and they all took a good lung-full as soon as they could get out of the car. Dean said a respectful "Good morning Ma'am" as they neared.

"Morning," she answered, and sighed. "What can I do for you?"

They all came up the steps, Sam stopping on the top one to keep from towering, he and Gen pleasantly greeting her too.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asked. "We're federal agents," he said, as they all showed their badges, "We've come to ask after your husband but we can come back later if you prefer."

"No," she waved it off as she turned to the door, "no-no, distract me now please." She held the door open for them and eyed off Sam's wet hair. "Come in and have a hot drink. My name's Mabel Carruthers."

Dean said "My name's Agent Cooper. These are Agents Crane and Poole," he gestured to Gen and Sam. She nodded and led them to the kitchen and an old laminate table. Once there, Mabel began organising the cups and kettle, saying "Sit down, sit down." They did, Sam adjusting his damp suit and thankful he didn't need to avoid any upholstery.

Dean got to the task. "Ma'am, we came to ask after Mr Carruthers' near miss earlier this week."

"Ah, yes. Well," she smiled bitterly, "seems that was a bullet we couldn't dodge."

"Ma'am," Gen asked, "would you like me to make the drinks so you can sit and talk?" She couldn't believe Mrs Carruthers was having guests after her husband had just passed, his absence surely barely measured.

"You know what honey, yes. That would be good. I'll have a strong tea, white with one."

Once Mabel had settled, she started them off, waving her finger at the front of the house, "So, all that was about my Jim. Did you see the ambulance?"

"Yes Ma'am," Sam answered.

"Yes, my daughter-in-law and son are following to make arrangements…"

"Ma'am," Sam asked gently, "what's the dodged bullet you're referring to?"

"Well, just that Jim almost died last week and actually died today," she smiled weakly.

"We are so sorry, Mrs Carruthers."

"Thank you." Polite smile.

"We heard…," he pressed on politely. "There's been a rumour going around that it wasn't just a heart attack."

"Oh! The FBI sure knows their gossip," she observed. "Is that why you're here? Which version of the story were you looking for?"

Gen handed warm drinks to Mabel and a very grateful Sam, gently saying "The one you would tell your nieces please, Mrs Carruthers." She then sat down with her and Dean's drinks, doing her best we're-just-colleagues face.

Mabel looked at Gen squarely, then titled her head a little in suspicion. "We have a curse. A curse upon our family," she stated, practically daring Gen to comment.

"What kind of curse?" Sam asked.

"Now look here," she pointed at him, "I'm not interested in you telling me that curses are a crock. My husband, bless is soul, is gone because of it. We knew it would happen, and it did. Twice. But it comes with a blessing and I'm thankful that such a horrible legacy has some consolation so that we can prepare for the inevitable. Just don't come here with your doubting and your X-files and patronise me."

Sam had blinked through her words, patiently letting her dress him down. She was very recently widowed, after all, and entitled to her angst. They pinched their smiles of compassion, and let Sam use his good judgement.

"Ma'am," he said kindly, "we ask because we believe. Truly… What is the curse?"

Mabel sighed out her nose then lifted her chin to present the story. "The men in Jim's family are taken, in their later years but certainly before their time. We're only in our 70s for crap's sake. He was taken by his father's ghost, who was taken by his own. My great-great-great Aunt Flo tried to protect her brother from her father, who'd gone crazy with sickness, and was killed along with him." Gen saw Dean blink as he tried to follow the story and sucked her lips against her teeth to stay neutral. Mabel continued: "The bayonet went through them both. Her brother's soul, through torment for his father's pain and insanity, suffered until he met out the same fate to his own son. And his sister tried to stop him, and his son after him."

"She has become your banshee?" Gen asked gently, hoping to confirm her suspicion.

"Yes," Mabel looked at Gen anew, with appreciation. "She is our banshee." She said it with pride.

"Do you know if she's helped with any other deaths in your husband's family?" Gen asked.

"No," Mabel seemed to think this was curious. "No, just the ones from the curse."

"And now you have a son?"

"Yes." It was a grim reminder. "The story says they burned the bones of the father. He had cut his own throat behind the cabin," she thumbed toward the older part of the house, "but killed his son and daughter out in the forest, and they were never found."

Dean asked "When was the last time they looked? What did they use?"

"It was 1950. Jim was about 12. His father used an enchanted divining fork, or something. He said his mother cried for a week when nothing turned up." And that was where she seemed to weaken. Mabel's gaze dropped to the laminate tabletop and slid, landing longingly at Sam's chair and, to Gen, she seemed to feel that mother's dread and her own loss all at once. "They didn't believe Jim's mother very much… It was an era of white coats, I suppose, new science and such… she gripped my hands, my wrists, till they bruised, while I was still in my wedding dress, and begged me to do something. But I didn't know where to begin." She looked into Gen, glassy-eyed and mouth fallen, "I believed the story, I even expected him to go first, but I just… who prepares for this? I's a gone fool!"

"Mrs Carruthers," Gen began, "please try not to blame yourself. Curses are terribly difficult to undo, and they can get stronger. Your husband had a wonderful life, I'm sure; you've done him no disservice."

Mabel smiled weakly, trying to be thankful for Gen's effort. They let her have a moment, hoping she wouldn't come undone just yet. She looked around the kitchen remembering "You know, we have guests on their way," she sniffed some and blinked a little. "They were coming to see Jim because he nearly died."

"Are they coming to stay?" Gen asked. "Can you ask them to go to a hotel instead?"

"No, I want them to stay, they're old friends, but the house…"

"We can give you an hour, help you clean up." Gen offered without even thinking. "I don't know what you need doing, but what do you say to me vacuuming, Cooper dusting and Poole mowing the lawn?" The brothers looked at her, and then each other, wondering how they felt about this, but she ignored it.

"Oh, I couldn't-"

"Ma'am," Dean interrupted, "It'd be the best daylight hour we've spent in weeks."

Mabel looked at them, and remembered how often she said it to new mothers and sick friends: don't ever turn down good help. "Okay then," she nodded, and put her hands on the table ready to stand, "Okay."

After leading Dean and Gen to the cupboard they'd need, Mabel showed Sam the old push mower and beamed at the sight of such a man doing honest work for her.

Gen did her politest, most respectful best to check if Dean knew how to dust. He frowned at her growling "I know how to _dust_ , Gen!" and she tried, really tried, not to smile.

"Okay, but you need to use the cloth on any dust you can really see, and the feather duster on _everything_ else," she checked.

"Yyyyyeah-heah," Dean said obnoxiously, clearly learning something new. "I _know_! …Why aren't I vaccuming? Isn't dusting easier?"

"You can reach what the tall people can see," she explained. He smiled at her before planting a warm kiss on her lips, and smiled again – "You're an excellent woman, Genevieve" – before getting to the task. Gen smiled at the hoover for the whole job.

Mabel worked on the bathroom – a space many people would be loath to let anyone else clean – and was done in good time. Dean had taken to his job with a dedication and thoroughness normally saved for his car and weapons, intensely and carefully wiping the nooks of picture frames and dresser carvings. After Gen'd finished she found Mable on the porch, watching Sam mow.

"He started late because he sharpened the blades," she sighed to Gen, not taking her eyes off Sam with his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled. He was halfway done.

"Pity it's not warmer," Gen said quietly.

"Oh!" she swiped at Gen's arm. "You shouldn't!"

Gen smiled at her, "Sorry Mrs Carruthers, I've not doubt you're a terribly respectable woman."

"Of course!" she claimed, "…but Jim always liked me to make him jealous. He liked a bit of sauce."

"Oh! I'm aghast!" she mocked, having had no doubt at all. She leaned over the rail and called "Agent Poole, I can't believe you've still got your tie on! It's so humid!"

He stopped and looked up at them, "Yeah, I know, right?" and promptly pulled it off.

Gen leaned over to mutter to Mabel, "Gimme a quarter hour Ma'am, and you'll have to get your sunglasses." Mabel laughed, heartily, until Dean arrived behind them with his own shirtsleeves rolled back and not a little warm from the work. "How's it goin'?" he breathed. "Jeez ladies, you want me to put some music on or something?"

"You could make us some iced tea," Gen suggested.

"You're so unprofessional," he scolded. And thought of something else. "Mrs Carruthers-"

"Mabel, please."

"Mabel, did you take the near miss as an omen?"

She turned to Dean while her eyes searched around for how to explain. "I saw it, the first time. This white scream flashed by, then reappeared and swung around us. We were working in the vegetable garden, around dusk. And I just _knew_ it was a warning, not a threat. But then I saw him appear and reach into Jim's chest and I didn't know what to do. Jim was horrified and I just swung around with my hoe, because I just, I didn't know what to do! And then he was gone!"

"You did real good, Mabel," Dean said solemnly, squeezing her shoulder to help her settle. "You saved his life."

"Only for four days," she said, "but they were good."

Sam was wiping the blades, having finished the lawn, and took the mower back to the shed.

"And today?" Dean pressed, "Was today different?"

"Jim had… kept to himself this morning. Do you think he might've been keeping me from harm's way? Or from seeing it?"

"Possibly," Gen offered.

Then Mabel seemed to look forward for the moment, managing to buck up for a little while longer. "I can't thank you enough, Agents. I never expected your visit, or your help."

"We'll probably visit again Ma'am," Gen explained, "but if not, we're very happy to help. I know we make a good difference when we catch the baddie, and all that, but if feels like we take a lot from people along the way. And at their worst times."

Mabel squeezed her arm, neither of them realising her hand had landed there long before now.

Sam stood at the bottom of the steps, jacket and tie over his arm. "We should get going, let you get on with things," and he smiled that sweet consolation smile he does.

Mabel worked her way down the steps and Gen and Dean walked by her. She grabbed Sam's spare arm saying "Thank you so much! Joel hates mowing, especially with the rotary. I can't even imagine when it would've gotten done without you." She beamed up at him and he smiled openly at her. "He was tall like you, you know."

"Oh yeah?" Sam laughed.

"Barely fit on the gurney," she said softly, "but not half as handsome."

Gen laughed at Sam's shyness. "You need a fence fixing? Hole dug? We can do without him for half a day."

"Don't you listen to her," she said, and patted his arm away.

"Okay, thank you Mrs Carruthers," Sam said and he left her and walked toward the car. "Good luck with your guests."

"You have our sincerest condolences, Ma'am," said Gen as she shook her hand.

Sam took shotgun this time. As the car slowly turned and went down the driveway, Gen could see Mabel wave at them, her hand dashing up, then back under her bust where it clasped the other, her bottom lip popping in and out of her mouth as she chewed away the brimming tears. Gen felt her chest tighten instantly, wetness springing from her eyes, at the sight of her being left alone. She put her hand to her chin, imagining how she could tell Dean to stop the car so she could run back for a hug. "Okay, stop the car."

"Gen-" Dean started but she was gone already. The boys twisted in their seats and looked back at her skipping every other step back to Mabel, who was wondering if everything was okay. Gen hooked an arm in hers, and they could just catch her respectfully ask if she could walk Mable to her door. The women went back up the steps, Gen talking through her downturned mouth, Mabel doing the same as she patted her arm. Gen gave her a business card with more nodding and a big patting, rubbing hug, and Gen made her way back down the steps, roughly wiping her eyes as she trotted back to the car.

"Okay, you can go. We forgot to give her a number," she muttered, soon huffing unsteadily – in, in, out - through wet lips. Dean didn't stop to look at her, and didn't comment.

"I just couldn't bear the thought of her having to turn around and look at her home… walk back to it..."

"Don't worry about it Gen," Dean assured. "It's all good." He didn't suggest that this is why we don't get involved and do sweet things for victims, because as soon as it crossed his mind he also realised that Gen would get over it, as much as she could. Being sad isn't always harm done. He just drove and looked forward to a hug of his own.


	23. Interrupted

Inside the car was a sad stillness. Outside, the sun now shone a white brightness over glittering grass and glinting metal roofs. Had they really come along this same road?

Sam taking shotgun had been perfect; Dean could sneak squinted glances of Gen in the rear vision mirror and she could disengage from them both, look to the horizon, and feel her perspective.

She broke the silence as they hit the town's city limits. "I think I misunderstood before. Mabel said something about "and his son after him" as though it was the most recently killed man who killed the next – the father always killing his own son. But if any of them are cremated, which they must've been sure to do, then it wouldn't have continued, would it? Maybe there are traces of them… But then there would be, like four, avenging souls…."

Sam wondered aloud with her. "Maybe they move on once they've done the job?"

"To where?" Gen asked. "What would take them where after that? I mean, does fulfilling the curse activate a ticket to purgatory or something?"

They all wondered to themselves and Gen mumbled something about a whole hour and 'call her back'.

"We can check cemetery records back at the motel," Sam offered.

Dean added his interpretation. "I thought it was the brother killing the next descendent once he started looking like his crazy dad. As in, old."

"That sounds the most sensible," Gen nodded thoughtfully. "We should probably research the phenomenon too, though. Maybe."

"Not before we get some grub," Dean interrupted. "Dusting is thirsty work."

Sam looked at his brother, just shaking his head "…You're pathetic."

"Oh did you dust Sam? Huh?" Dean defended sarcastically. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to dust? It's not nothin'. Sure, you had to push a _mower_ and be _outdoors_ , and all _sweaty_. Dusting is still work you know!" They pulled into the motel car park.

"I can't even tell whose side you're on," Gen sighed dryly.

"I'm defending you babe!" he offered, trying to make an ironic joke. Gen's face did not indicate her opinion, or his success. "…Your peeps." It was gorgeous how hopeful he could be about irony.

"You muppet," she smacked him up the back of his head. "Why, exactly, would I need defending about housework?"

Dean looked at her blankly, Sam enjoying every sweet second. The poor guy just didn't know where to start digging.

But he gave it a red hot go. "…Honey… If you chose to do housework, I'm sure you would do it hard enough to sweat. Coz you do all your jobs… so hard." There.

"Jobs… are hard for me?"

"Hey, that's not what I said," he pointed at her, then recognised her sly smile. "Yyyyyooooou're lucky you're in the backseat."

"Ha," Sam laughed, "Okay, I'm gonna to go get some take away. Any requests?"

Orders were placed as they got out. Gen grunted a bit as she straightened to stand, pushing her knuckles into the back of her hips. There was that familiar hot ache through her pelvis – not the good kind.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Crampy," Gen muttered ruefully. "Perfect fucking timing."

"Damn, you're telling me," Dean agreed, and put his arm around her shoulders. "You want a massage or something?"

Gen stopped to look at him… "All these months- Are you serious? All these months of convincing myself I didn't like you and I could've been getting _massages_?!" she flopped her hands on her thighs in exasperation. "F'fuck's sake!"

"Aaaaw, baby," he squeezed, "I'll make up for it," and kissed her head.

"God yes. Something warm and heavy on my achy bits would be heaven… sorry, that was a bit suggestive." Dean just grinned at her: "Hey, it won't be wasted time," and pulled her in for a warm kiss, his hands slipping under her jacket and pressing firmly on her lower back. He listened to her breathe in deeply then hum against his mouth as her soothed her. She broke it off, resting her forehead on his chin, groaning "Let me go get changed, 'kay?"

"Okay, see ya soon."

In her own room, Gen got herself into her regular hunting gear, imagining they'd be heading off to either a cemetery or back to the forest before, or even at, the end of the day. T-shirt, hoodie, jacket, boots, silver blade by ankle, check, check, check. Her thoughts ran over the rumpled bed and the reasons for its state. Barely a day ago, she'd been in a completely different town, without any idea of what would be ahead, or how her life would do a massive U-turn via a near-breakdown. But now she had someone, a man, waiting for her a few doors down. And he was excellent.

She opened Dean's door and at the tell-tale sounds of a smack and a grunt, she was suspicious and instantly protective. So she didn't think to close the door and run – run and get Sam. That only occurred once she'd burst in and saw two men holding Dean, another punching him in the gut, and one more watching it happen.

Gen pulled out her phone, swiping and tapping to Sam's number, as the supervisor turned and walked towards her backing out the door. When he got within arm's reach, she threw her phone to the ground, her call to Sam trilling for an answer. (Even then, she had a quiet flash of clarity: she'd been slow to leave because she wanted to see his face and make eye contact. But abandonment or not, he was already on his knees, she was out numbered in a small space, and two rescuers were better than one: she should have run.)

The man slammed the door shut behind her. He swung to grab her arm but she jumped back, grabbed his and kicking him in the ribs. Pivoting off it, she kicked him again, in the chest, trying to pushing him past her exit. He merely bounced with it, and as she raised her arms to protect and defend he lunged over to her, yanking her close and head-butting her hard. She stumbled backward in the small path between bed and window, reeling from the strength of him. Grabbing Gen's neck he stomped on the phone and shoved her onto the bed. She quickly scrambled, her brow pulling eyelids open, but at the far edge of the bed she met the knee of another, and was knocked out.

She couldn't hear Dean call her name as he lay on the carpet, bloodied, face down and hands bound behind him. Before he could even threaten someone, or demand that they check her, she was collected and taken, and he was gagged, hoisted up and hauled out of the room faster than he could've moved himself.

Barely three seconds in the daylight and Dean was roughly dumped into the back of a van – an old people mover with blacked windows. Two captors sat in the front, another in the seat behind them, his feet by Dean's head. The fourth demon sat on the back 3-seat bench, where Gen had been laid on her side with her head on his lap.

Dean lay there, cramped and bleeding, boots threatening his ankles and eyes, with a clear view of Gen unconscious and under the hands that had last beaten him. The demon looked down and smiled casually at Dean as he stroked her hair and ran fingers along the shapes of her face. He slipped his middle finger under the edge of her hoodie neck-line, pretended to have a peek down there – it was too dark to see anything – but then he rolled her onto her back and traced the v of her t-shirt. Dean kept his eyes glued to the demon's, unwilling to suggest she was special to him. The demon collected the zip-tag of her hoodie and dragged it open, breaking eye-contact to watch his own show. Dean followed suit, barely aware of how heavy his breathing became as the demon dropped the zip below her breast. Then he simply rested his hand on the bones of her exposed upper chest and let Dean see how vulnerable she was. How vulnerable they both were.

They drove for hours.


	24. Chips in a row

Sam could see it from the beginning of the corridor; the strip of darkness in the doorframe that shouldn't be there. Would Dean normally leave it like that? The closer he got the faster he became, soon dropping the food, and trying to run quietly and pulling his gun. But there was no one to hear, no one to creep up on, and he barely slowed as he ran in, banging the door against the table, immediately spotting the toppled chair and still-wet blood on the carpet. He lunged into the bathroom – nothing to see – then glanced around feverishly for any more signs of anything. Dean's unused bed by the door, since used for something. He raked his gaze over it for evidence of what or who. Then saw Gen's phone on the floor, crushed and buckled.

Sam pulled out his phone and dialled Dean's number.

* * *

 

Dean's jacket buzzed. The demon who sat alone was the only one who heard it. He reached down and leaned his hand on the side of Dean's head, pressing his temple into the floor, as he reached into his pocket to fish it out. Dean grunted against the pressure but couldn't get a look at who was calling.

The demon read the screen before pocketing the phone and patiently waited for it to go to voicemail. The supervisor, in shotgun, looked over his shoulder, raised an eyebrow and got a confirming nod in reply.

Dean figured it was Sam calling. Who else would likely call now? Who else would they nod about?

* * *

 

Sam was a frantic mess. Upon a hope, he sprang out the door and dashed to Gen's room. "Gen!" he bashed on the door, "Gen?! You there?"

He couldn't wait, had to know. Two ramming efforts was all it took for him to get inside and see her FBI clothes on the bed. So she had changed, and was gone too, but so what?

He had nothing. Both of them gone, with a struggle, and no answer.

All he could do was track Dean's phone and hope. Closing her door as best he could, he got back to his own, pulled out his cell and chewed the skin off his cheeks while he waited for the damn connection to get the goddamn fuck on with it.

And then… They're moving. Sam kicked the bed, paced. Dragged his hands through his hair. He couldn't guarantee a connection as he travelled, but he couldn't sit still either. He changed out of the suit into a few layers, jeans and boots. Collecting every bag of equipment he had, he locked it all up, grabbed the bag of food from the concrete, and hauled ass toward a little blinky dot on the map.

* * *

 

 _Another isolated barn,_ Dean thought, _in the goddamn dark. Where the hell is the house? Why is there are a barn all the way out here, with no one around?! How do they find these fucking places?_

It was big, with a slight lean, and not a single piece of glass remaining. Upon entering, Dean scanned the equipment under the makeshift lighting: parts of ploughs, yokes hanging on the wall, unmounted antlers, olds machine belts and pitchfork heads hanging on hooks. It was wide and deep, with a series of telephone-pole-thick beams in a square around the centre. Towards the back were stalls, some with walls partially gone. It was hard to see anything down the end, or even how the back wall looked.

Dean was dragged to the middle, through the dust and bits of straw, propped against the beam, on his ass, and roped in place, at least one loop going through his arms, he noted. Gen was put down against another beam in the back row, to his left, so that she faced the barn door, a pile of rope beside her. She was still out for the count, as best Dean could tell, but they'd cuffed her hands regardless.

The demons spoke quietly between themselves, tersely, eyes serious. A minion swept a clear patch in front of Dean and the other began marking the concrete floor with white spray paint, copying a diagram on a page. On the ground beyond, the supervisor began to empty a duffel bag and arrange items around a copper bowl. His right-hand guy – the right hook guy – reminded him: "We're missing the younger one."

"Give him a chance, Simon. We can be patient a while longer."

Gen shifted, groaning into the dust, the cuffs soon rattling as she tried to touch her head. Dean watched, listening to himself remember how capable she was, that she'd be okay, that she could handle a lot. Simon strode over, uncuffed her, and made her stand. She frowned, fighting to squint, and leaned heavily against the pole, palms unconsciously raised. Dean's heart raced as he noticed a square hook about a foot above her head, but all he could do was watch as the demon tied her hands back, the pole too thick for them to touch behind it. He slung the end over the hook, then around her twice – once to choke and once to gag – knotted to keep and back up to knot again at the hook. It was messy and awkward, but she was stuck and exposed.

Dean tried to be unaffected by the scene but she was vulnerable and far away, and he quickly gave up the pretence. He fought in his spot, yelling "You hurt her and I'll fucking kill you!" but you'd have to speak 'gag' to get it. Gen saw him across the space, sitting in his stained FBI shirt and trousers, with a goatee of dried blood and a split eyebrow. She bit down on the rope and moved herself against the bonds, feeling their direction and tightness, trying to show Dean that she was getting it together, slowly coming present.

Simon placed himself between them both, blocking their view of each other. He wasn't that interested in her, but thought it worth his while to whet Dean's panic, so he undid Gen's hoodie all the way to the hem and stood close to her. Dean scuffed his heels over the concrete, trying to shift himself higher or sideways to see, but it made no difference.

Simon dragged a finger down her nose, over her lips and chin and to the dip of her throat, resting a heavy hand over her chest again. He knew he didn't need to do much to work up the other when his hand was out of view. Gen peered at his smarmy smirk, fairly sure he could see how much he could fuck off. He leaned in, pressing her onto the pole and forcing her breathing into her belly. Dean's flinched as he watched Simon pull a knife from the back of his waistband and yelled "Get. Your. God. Damned. Hands. Offa. Her." Even the blind could lip-read that.

Simon didn't pause. The knife disappeared between them as everyone watched something they couldn't see. Gen managed to make the slightest grunt, keep her hands still, and breathe through the sting as he dragged the edge along two inches of softness below her collarbone. Simon turned coolly, indifferent to Dean's threats, and walked away.

Gen closed her eyes and shook her head minutely to indicate she was okay.

Dean's eyes snapped back to the supervisor who now approached and squatted down on bended knee. He spoke carefully and crisply. "I don't like you," very matter of fact, "but you have your uses."

The replying glare left nothing to the imagination. It was clear that there were _things_ this guy to shove in _places._

Dean's gag was removed. He swallowed once and began talking, his only plan being to not sound panicked. "You need to let her down," he said it like advice. "She's concussed and no threat to you."

"She's less of a threat like that," the guy debated.

"You don't wanna piss me off," Dean assured him, "any more than you already have."

Simon scoffed. "James, does he really need to be conscious for this?"

"Yes," James replied, flatly, unimpressed with Simon's contribution, his gaze remaining on Dean. "Yes, we need him to talk. Dean, you're hunters. Very good ones, which is why you're here. I can't imagine you would keep company with a sub-par hunter for any length of time, ergo, she stays bound."

"You're the guys we slipped last night," Dean figured.

"Only for sixteen hours or so," James confirmed with a half-smile. "It's okay, we don't intend to do permanent damage. Well, I don't. Simon's bad cop…. The other two are just mooks," he swivelled to joke with the minions, "Isn't that right boys? Just strongarm goons."

"Duuuh, yeah boss!" one answered.

"Whatever you say boss," the other joined in "Goons! Hired goons!" and they smiled and swayed their weight jovially. Dean frowned: _did they… did they just quote The Simpsons?_

It was unsettling. There was usually no honour amongst thieves, so to speak, but these guys were respecting a hierarchy with someone Dean had never heard of, even letting the guy joke on them in front of captives.

"Doesn't change the fact," Dean kept trying, "you came for me and Sam. Leave her be."

"We need you and Sam," James clarified, rising and walking away, "and we need you compliant. So she stays where she is."

In the distance, Dean heard the rumbling sound of a familiar V8 shutting off. He and James shared knowing smiles, with differing opinions, but either way it meant Sam would be with them soon.

"Get out there," James ordered the minions, "and drag him in."

James and Simon took seats at the edge of the barn opposite Dean, patiently waiting for the other two to do their job. It was surreal. Simon began staring at Gen but he lost focus upon the noises out there and was soon bouncing his knee while he watched the door. James closed his eyes, crossed his legs and leaned back against a beam. Dean looked over at Gen and saw that she was wide-awake and wary. She nodded little to suggest she was alright, but wasn't about to pretend she wasn't nervous.

After a while, they could hear scuffling grow closer, then puffed curses from the two, and grunts from Sam as he fought them. As they got to the door, something slammed against the wall – "Ah goddammit!" – a punch and a grunt, puffing, a curse, more puffing… the door banged open and a cuffed Sam was shoved in chest-first with a grumbled "Get the fuck in there" following close behind. Simon grabbed his shirtfront and rammed him against the nearest beam, James collecting a rope and pinning Sam's neck against the wood from behind.

"Holy shit this guy is massive!" Minion one announced as he threw the demon blade Sam'd brought onto the floor.

"Massive pain in the arse," the other added. "Fuck!"

They were puffed, for demons, and didn't seem to be all that dinged up. Sam had blood from his nose smeared across his face and a shiner already developing. He got close to the same treatment as Gen, but was free to speak.

"Your gym membership lapse or something?" Simon asked.

"He can run," Minion 1 puffed, "like a fucken antelope." He looked sideways at his fellow goon and they laughed like they just done a ding-dong-ditch. They were annoying the ever-loving shit out of Dean.

From where Sam "stood", he could look almost directly at Gen and felt himself go queasy at her helplessness, noting her open hoodie, the cut and the egg on her temple. He wished he knew more about what they'd already been through. Sam looked down and recognised the marks on the ground as ancient Greek, but didn't know enough to interpret them or their purpose. His glance at Dean conveyed as much.

"I would let her go, if I were you," Sam said menacingly. "She's-"

"Ugh, Gawd," said Minion 2 as he walked by, and shoved a rag into Sam's mouth.

"Okay," James announced, rubbing his hands together and walking back to the graffiti. "We're going to do a deal here boys, and you're going to go along with it. You will be compliant. You will be gracious. You will even be optimistic-"

"You will kiss my ass," Dean added.

James was unaffected, talking over the interruption. "-or we will hurt your friend." He pointed at Gen. Simon walked over to stand in front of her, watching James for any cue. Sam and Dean both shifted without thinking.

"Legend knows how devoted you two are to those you care for." James raised his hands, "I'm not stirring. It's not a criticism. We're fairly loyal ourselves," he gestured to his comrades. "But, unlike you, I don't expect them to be turned by my suffering. It's a strength we have."

"Every demon is an island," Dean commented.

"Yeah," James laughed, "yes, I suppose we are. Anyway, point being, you will do, and be, as I say, or we will spend a few decades breaking this woman because, frankly, if things don't go as planned we'll have nothing else to do. Any of us," he indicated to the other three.

"You didn't have her last night," Dean said. "What were you going to do without her?"

"I'm fairly sure it doesn't matter much who's against that pole, Dean," James crossed his arms, "but she's been part of the plan for a while."

He merely glanced at Simon and it was all the sign he need to punch Gen in the gut. It was a sickening noise, infuriating the brothers when they knew she'd had no preparation. But she had. She'd known it was coming from his stance. However it was much harder than she'd expected, and hurt so much more thanks to the pole behind her and, well, everything already aching.

The second punch she didn't expect. She bent as best she could, raising a knee, to relieve her stomach, and swallowed the bile, forcing a breath in. In truth her pelvis was on fire and her head was pounding. She barely needed the beating to feel any worse.

Simon laughed a little, like he'd remembered something, and walked back to James. As he approached, Dean heard him say "She reeks of blood-" and leaned in to whisper something. James eyebrows went up and he looked at Simon as if to ask Really? and Simon nodded in reply, happy grin across his face.

James walked over to Dean and knelt on his right, allowing a clear aspect of Gen. His words bounced off the front wall and Sam listened too. "Here's a bit of trivia," James shared confidentially. "Tell me if this is TMI: you know when a uterus builds the menstrual lining? Well, it actually grows veins into that lining. So each month, when it comes away, the veins snap, and she bleeds her own, fresh blood. No wonder it hurts, eh?" They both looked at Gen, Simon standing before her once more. "Poor women. They bleed for their children, they bleed just in case… They bleed when you hit them. Just like men." James socked Dean right across his face, hearing the neck bones crack at the stretch. A fresh trickle started from Dean's nostril and as he raised his head to shake it off he glanced at Gen, seeing her struck again by Simon, this time lower, over her waist band, and the sound she made was gut wrenching. She puffed moans as the tears rolled down her cheeks and she tried to manage the pain. Simon stood and watched her recover.

He turned a little to James, for instruction, but that's when Gen found her feet. Shifting her legs to the side, she pulled back her right to kick him in the groin and then, as he bent over from it, knee him in the head. The stretch at her arms and the burn on her throat and face were worth it. It was shallow, with a quarter of her strength, but it was something.

The minions hooted and clapped, leaned on their knees at the sight. James called Simon's name as a warning, and Simon glared his own threat at Gen. She felt a flush of warm blood between her legs and was suddenly infuriated. She was officially in a shit mood.

Dean swallowed against his rising rage. "So you're barbarians too?"

"You heard of the Sacking of Rome?" James asked. "That's where we met. Good times." They both heard Simon say something to Gen, nothing they could make out. She looked at the floor between them, then at Dean, hoping he could see her thinking _We are getting the hell out of this situation, no matter what._

James could see Dean had given up feigning indifference over Gen's condition. His chest heaved and he watched her intensely, recognising the fear behind her stoicism. He'd always hated seeing Gen at mercy, and they hadn't gone through anything this bad. It happened so rarely yet he found it hard to focus when it did, just as when it happened with Sam, but his panic about her… she was smaller, and more innocent, literally; he couldn't tolerate her torture as well as he could his brother. Most days he ate up being beside her in battle, but sometimes he just wanted to be between her and everything else awful. In this case, he would have to wait and see what they were dealing with.

Dean flicked a burning glare at Simon as he ground out "I'm going to fucking kill you," then to James, "All of you. Junk first." James nodded a sure-sure and stood to look down over Dean in his hammered state. "Do we have your cooperation, Dean?" He took Dean's bloodied spit on his shoe as consent.

"Alright," he announced, "Let's get started. All you have to do, Dean, is tell the truth about yourself and go willingly." He looked at Sam too. "Remember: idle hands..."


	25. Gods and Minions

The demons gathered around the markings on the ground. If Dean was at its 6 o'clock, Sam and James were at 2 and 12 respectively, although Sam was some yards away and strained to turned his head against the rope for a better view.

The others took their places around the paint as they liked and watched James work. He followed instructions, adding ingredients to the bowl as need be – blood, honey, yew, garlic, powders and bones - incanting Greek pleas and promises. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, neither with much clue of what to expect. Then James stopped adding and began the chant again, swirling the bowl, and at the last line, poured it contents onto the centre of the mark. The demons knelt down and watched intently.

Moonlight suddenly tunnelled through the windows, hitting the centre of the circle, bright enough to make them squint. The grey beam soon came from the ground itself. Its strength rose, filling a column above it, and momentarily a person stood before them. She was elegant, handsome, and full figured, with wavy dark hair piled and cascading over her head. And she was very tall. In fact, it wasn't just height; she was large, like a giant. She glowed so that it was hard to tell the colour of her robes – white, grey, green, blue – which draped around her shapes. Everything was still, the howls of distant dogs slowly dying away, and they waited. When she opened her eyes the first things she saw were the fearful faces of Sam, Dean and Gen, hoping she might be on their side.

The newcomer spoke to Dean. "You did not call me."

"I called you," James announced, "if you please."

She didn't answer, but Dean saw her look over him and his situation. And then, the most peculiar thing happened. Dean heard her speak without moving her mouth. Although, the sound certainly wasn't in his head. He glanced at Sam, who already wore the same stunned expression.

"You are standing at the bottom of the gate," she remarked, from somewhere. The demons didn't move. "Your grace! Your highness," James stumbled ever so slightly, "I am very sorry. It's an amateur's error. Please accept my humble apologies."

"You do not call me Your Grace or Highness," she said coldly, and turned so that another face looked at Dean, and at Sam, and at Gen. "You call me Hecate."

"Yes, Hecate," James acquiesced, forehead to concrete.

The captives breathed fast. Sam especially was wracking his brain for information about Hecate. He tried to smile around his gag at her, hesitantly, hopefully.

"Why are these people beaten and bound?" she asked.

"They are for you, Hecate," James reported. "They are an offering in the hopes that you may help us."

She faced James directly, turning a little, her other gazes now landing on a minion and the space beside Dean who gaped at the view of two profiles. "Help you to what?" she asked.

Upon James' lead, the demons sat up and rested on their heels. "We seek passage to the underworld and hope that you, such a powerful God, would help us. We bring you these heroes that you might see a use in them for yourself. They are brothers, descended from Cain, and two of the strongest fighters humans have."

"Our underworld is not the one you belong to," Hecate stated plainly.

"Yes," James nodded deeply, "but they are not… unconnected."

"Why don't you return to your own?"

Here James took a risk. He didn't want to tell her they'd been banished by the King of Hell for treason. Already on the surface when they were busted, Crowley couldn't be bothered sending anyone to snuff them out, but James had a taste for power and resentment was a steady fire for his appetite. All four of them thought he would be better suited to the throne than that wanking pip-squeak from nowhere, and despatching the Winchesters before overthrowing Crowley looked like good politics. So he lied.

"You must know the black market of rumour in which our world deals, Madam. Someone has turned my friends against me, all but three of them, and I implore you to give me access to… a back door, so to speak. If you would just ask these men-"

Hecate turned again, presenting a fresh face, and continued to consider the offer. "Who directed you to me?"

Simon shifted his position a little. Kneeling didn't become his character – he'd already spent his quota of penitence in this existence – and he wondered why she was taking so long to convince. Everyone wants the goddamn Winchesters.

James saw Simon's impatience and flashed a warning, yet he sympathised. The questions were unnerving and, he felt, beneath him.

Hecate turned again, a new face for James this time, rattling Minion 2 with her direct irate stare from above. Gen watched from her distance, hopeful at Hecate's dominant calm in the face of monsters. The sight of this ever-changing woman was almost bewitching Sam.

"James," she knew, "who told you to call upon me?"

He cleared his throat. "A follower of yours. Atape. She described you as a generous and fair God, and I've heard your access to the dead is unsurpassed. She gave me the gate, the scents and the words to call you. I offer you these warriors-"

One of her eyebrows lifted as she asked "Was she with anyone?"

"Yes, a man named Oldos," James confirmed with unravelling patience, hoping that, finally, this was enough information.

It was. She laughed. She swayed, each aspect of her taking a turn to lean over and giggle and sigh, an exquisite dance of three echoes coming from her all at once. It bounced around the room like a chorus.

"That was Apate," hooted one of her, "and Dolos!" another gasped. They calmed before the one facing James gravely delivered "You should've done your homework."

Gen dared to let the hope in her swell and was almost sure she could see Sam and Dean grow taller from their own.

Hecate took a step toward James. "If you want access to the underworld, you should be calling upon Persephone-"

"She is merely The Goddess of vegetation-" James interrupted, trying to enhance Hecate's standing by comparison.

"You moron!" she leaned towards him, and as she spoke her voice began to fill the space with its deep, echoing reprimand. "She is the Queen of the Underworld and bringer of rebirth. She, who commands death in the seasons, can also command its harvest and so life. She meets out the curses due to the dead – one and the same in you." She stood straight, her mouths curling in disgust. "I would advise you to not approach her."

"Yes," James managed his tone, "but we had hoped to start with you, Hecate, before demanding her time."

Hecate raised a hand, murmured a short few syllables and watched as the bag, and Simon's breast pocket, burst into flames. Simon fell backwards, flapping at the brightness and whipping off his jacket. He glared at Hecate but huffed indignation, knowing full well what and why she had done it. "Begging for a deal yet hiding threats," she commented. "I would also advise you to not suggest my time is worth less than my cousin's. Your attempts to manipulate and flatter are pitiful."

Sam looked at Dean, barely masking his hope and excitement. She was excellent, so far, and he wouldn't mind being rescued by her one jot.

Hecate walked… backward? And knelt before Dean. She pinched his chin lightly, looking over his face and injuries. He held his breath at her eclipsing size and grace. Gen fought to keep her voice, not wanting to threaten or let slip her fear, but she was so big compared to Dean. She pulled on every rope just to contain herself.

"I would have them," Hecate admitted as she took him in, "if I had a use. They are heroes, albeit mortal ones… But for a few of my poor followers, these hunters fairly fulfil my wishes as they are."

She walked around the minions, who're unwilling to attack without James' say-so, and approached Sam. She stood before him, seemingly indifferent to the frustration "behind" her. Tall enough to look him in the forehead, she watched Sam swallow against the rope and try to look respectful, strong, unbothered… anything but turned on, basically. Hecate lay a hand on his chest and gave him a smile, one her other faces couldn't hide. She sighed. Sam blinked and swallowed again and focused on just breathing.

"I keep a meritocracy, James, and valuable as these goods may be, _you_ have nothing." Her tone was stony and decided, and she looked James in the eye. "I am not persuaded to trade with demons such as you."

James had had enough. He stood abruptly, the others itching to follow his lead, and Hecate turned look down on them, lashing them with searing glares. "Did you really think such information would fall into your lap without a catch? Dolos and Apate are spirits of fraud, deceit and treachery. I suspect they were sent by your foes. And if that is something you cannot foresee or prevent, why would I lower myself to deal with such pathetic rot as yourselves?"

James, incensed by the possibility of being tricked by Crowley, moved to attack, but she raised a finger before he got traction. "One question, you half-brained goat: Do you know my realm?"

James grit his teeth. "You are a God of the moon and of speaking to the dead, and of crossroads. I'd hoped I could do a reasonable deal with a fair dealer."

"I know, for a fact, that not all the dead are this stupid." By this stage she seethed at the impertinence of being dragged here for this purpose and began talking over herself, her other faces interrupting. "While I will convene with the dead, I am not at their beck and call-" "Much less the damned dead of another lot." "-I don't _do deals,"_ she spat. "Your simple translation should embarrass you!" "I am not a version of your petty crossroads demons!" "-I may decide to reward those who _worship_ me, a God, but you are strangers to me-" "I wish you'd remained so." "-I am a _God_ of opportunity and choice and, significantly, _witchcraft_."

"Hecate, if you would only ask these men, they would swear their loyalty to you-"

All three of her raged _"I know who they are!"_ She ran off a series of syllables, her voices a scolding chord as she spoke over the demons and they waited to hear their purpose. She flicked a wrist, and Simon grabbed his crotch at the sudden ache. "As Goddess of the dead, I take the souls tortured within you, who are already touching the veil, and relieve them of their suffering. As Goddess of the dead and of witchcraft, I take your demonic advantages." With one hand pointed at Simon, she swept James and his minions against the far wall with her other. Straps and belts wrapped over their bodies like a possessed vine. Simon remained in the gate.

Hecate walked toward Gen. She unravelled the ropes without a touch, Gen stumbling from the pole, and smiled at her gently, in empathy, then cocked an eyebrow, this mild face saying "I believe you have some wrath to meet out?"

"How do you know?" Gen asked, surprised at the wool in her mouth. Hecate really was gloriously riveting. Up close she was like a cloud of night, smelling cool and dewy.

"The spell unlocks the gate but it begins as a window," she explained. "I know why you're angry."

Gen stood, wavering, and Hecate rested a large hand on her lower back. She felt her aches lift, her temple tighten and ease. She glanced at Dean, hesitant to believe in her good fortune, and looked at the floor for a moment. "I can't worship you" she confessed, thinking of Hecate's words and the witches Gen had killed in the past.

"Of course," the god nodded sagely. "You're a hunter. There's a balance. Genevieve, I am a god of maidens, and although you are not a maiden, I too am incensed by his viciousness. I have stood by warriors and rewarded them. You are a warrior. Your anger is justified. Do you not want to avenge yourself and your love?" Hecate nodded at Dean, who tried not to collect the reference too keenly.

"No, no," Gen assured her, "I'm keen to avenge, I just don't want to… be dishonest." Gen looked at her a moment.

"Please, empty prayer is worthless. I don't want you to waste my time like they have. Like they wasted yours."

"Sorry, yes. I'm wasting time now." Gen looked at the demon in his empty vessel and felt the righteousness ripple over her. Simon looked braced, but unsure. He was opening and closing his fists, testing their strength.

Gen began removing her jacket, then her hoodie. "You gonna run?" she asked.

Simon huffed arrogantly. "You want to chase me? Like prey? I'm not going to run from you!"

"No, but you should."


	26. Watch her as she goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrath.

What was it, seven steps? Five? She leaned into it and ran, and as Simon readied himself for impact Gen jumped at him, bringing her elbow to his temple in a chilling crack. He caught himself, hands on knees, and she punched him down further, kicked him, kicked him as he rolled. She pulled him up, and he landed a punch to her gut. She shuffled back with it and straightened to breathe in, smiling in surprise, laughing "Ugh, aha! You're just a man!" Simon pushed himself tall, glaring through his eyebrows, while she got ready to learn how he fought. She let him attack, deflecting his efforts, neatly punching him about the torso and jabbing his softness. Neither of them gave any ground, Gen simply beating him up while Simon tried to get started.

Introductions now done, she began slapping him across the head, open-handed, and boxed him about the ears between knocking his arms out of the way. It was a pathetic sight. He started shuffling backwards, twitching from the smacks, as she muttered "You fuckin hit my man and punched me in the menses you son of a bitch you can kiss my goddamn-" but she cut it short with four pummelling punches to the gut and a shredding right across the cheek. He buckled down and she kneed him over so that he rolled onto his side.

Simon puffed into the ground, dropping short moans of surprise, and thumped an irate fist against the concrete. Gen leaned to yell over him, her voice quickly growing hoarse, "You fucking _beat him while he's held back?! **GET UP!** "_

Dean's jaw hung slack. It was the best thing he'd seen on four legs. He caught Sam's eyes and they shared a moment of anticipation, daring to bet on their winner.

Simon was riled but heavy with new weakness and slow to respond. It took him a moment to realise that this is what sweating felt like. He hunched, jaw jutted, spit stringing, and tunnelled in to beat her. But he had no idea how much she'd held herself back to keep him in the fight. The fool got inside arm's reach, not realising that this was the last verse, and received a hit every other second for the next half minute. Sam and Dean watched in thirsty awe at her focus and flow, the smack and spite, her dominance, how she led and stole all his momentum. Hecate was more than entertained, and pleased with her chosen justice.

Simon kept up the struggle in spirit – he sure could take it – but his pride was no match for Gen's rage. She was bloodied, split in the eyebrow and lip, and a little tenderised but too angry to give a shit. She nearly bounced from the adrenaline.

So far, she'd been boxing him around the ring, and now she began to disable him, aiming for glands and pounding joints, hitting to break things. Everyone could see him losing speed. He would get caught in her snatching grips more often, and after his right elbow and knee had been bent soft, he finally backed up enough to get a break. He tried to buy a breather with some pissy banter. "S'pose I should know better than to hit a girl on her period," he mumbled around loose, shining lips. His whole body warped to one side with a limp arm tucked into his waist, his lean swaying under heaving breaths.

Gen was having none of it. She swung a fat right towards his ear and as he ducked to miss it she grabbed his head with her left and brought it down on her knee, then threw him to the ground before dropping her knees onto his back. "It's not the period, dipshit, it's the hunter." She punched him deep in the waist before reaching over for the demon blade. She resettled her weight over him as he struggled to escape but pinned his good arm back and under a knee, then leaned on his neck before looking at Hecate. "Any requests, Goddess?"

"Please yourself, Genevieve. It will please me."

Fair enough. "Simon, you boring underling," Gen got his attention. "A decade of hunting 'n you're not even in my top twenty hardest fights. Nowhere near it. I've fought drunkards trickier than you." She licked a bloodied lip. "You're a piece of shit and you won't be remembered." Gen paused for a moment, watched him blink at the insult and then killed him.

Standing above the body, knife in hand, everyone's eyes were on her – spattered and marked with blood, v-shaped sweat marks on her white t-shirt, wisps of hair fallen from her loosened bun, her strong frame still tense.

Gen turned in anticipation of James' fear. It was certainly rewarding. He now braced himself between the minions, all status dissolved. Her eyes glistened as she panted lightly, imagining the last minutes of these demons and eating up James' growing panic.

Sam couldn't see the demons at all and instead checked to see Hecate's expression. She smiled at Gen's victory and he was proud at her satisfaction. He wanted to tell her about all the other great things he'd seen Gen do.

Dean just looked up at Gen and breathed. The sight of her puffed, brutal and conquering was electrifying. Of the women before him that night, for many nights, this was the one his chest tightened for; this was the one he wanted standing over him, bound or free. His heart still raced while he swallowed, trying to calm and save idolising her for later.

Gen noticed Sam fall forward and looked to see if Dean was also released. As he stood, Hecate said "I have no need to stay. It's only just become worth my while." Gen nodded her gratitude. "I suspect you three will win your fight. You seem hungry for it Dean."

"Only sorry I didn't get my fair share of that asshole."

"James is just as deserving. I'm sure you'll do him justice." Hecate vanished and it was just the six of them now in the yellow light. Gen stared at James, bloodthirsty for his dread, but still thought to say "Sam, you feel like fighting?"

"Hell yeah," he removed his jacket. "I'll take this tall piece of crap here. I owe him a few." Gen gave him the blade.

"Dibs on James," Dean called. The demons were fast shimmying out of their slackened restraints, but the hunters were willing to let them come away from the wall first.

"Fine. I'm happy to take the shortshit on the end now that I'm warmed up," Gen said and made her way towards the dregs. As they rounded in on each other, Gen heard James breathing through his teeth. She dared to smile as they began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 points to you if you pick which song the title's referring. The original line is "Watch him as he goes".


	27. There's a flag on your ass

Only James seemed afraid, the others apparently more used to the grunt work of fighting and bruising, but Dean was under no illusions of how deserving this asshole was. The Sacking of Rome was a while ago.

It didn't take that long in the end. Sam was too angry to hold back on Dumberer and balanced his debt rather quickly. Sam handed Gen the blade mid-wrestle - she had no patience for playing cat-&-mouse - and supervised till her goon was gone. While she unravelled herself, and Dean and James wrestled on the ground, Sam collected Gen's jackets from the far side of the space.

Dean found it quite pitiful once he realised how pedestrian James' strength and skill had become. Then again, Dean hadn't gotten any healing since that beating so no complaints there. He watched for Gen and reached out for the demon knife when she was finished. James realised what was coming, that they'd already lost, and his wobbly chin gave way to a hysterical scream that Dean kept mercifully short.

Dean stood up, puffing, a big T of dry dirt across his back and dust and straw in his hair. He took in their work and looked at Gen, his hands on his hips. Sam, standing beside her, turned to look too. She was hesitant, a bit cool, unsure of what the guys would think of her behaviour with Simon, but she was ready to defend herself about that. Instead, Sam stepped in for a hug, a consuming one that took big fat seconds. After a few moments he placed his hand behind her head and mumbled into her hair "That was a long drive, worrying about you."

"Yeah," she squeezed him, "I worried about me too."

"What did he say to you?" he wondered as he handed over her jackets, "that thing we couldn't hear."

Gen sighed and thought of all the terrible people who have done and will do terrible things, and how life will go on etc, etc, so she wouldn't be overwhelmed when she reported "He said he'd made women confess to crimes they hadn't done." She looked up at him with a slight shrug, "I may have killed him too quickly."

Gen looked over at Dean, took a deep breath and reported dryly "You are very bloody."

"Bloody hungry," he corrected. "I told ya: Dusting is hungry work." Hey cheesy grin, long time no see. "Also. How awesome is Hecate?"

"Oh my God!" Sam exclaimed, "Holy Christ on a cracker!" The others started at his reaction. "She was awesome! Like, _literally_ , awesome!"

"Did you guys have a moment?" Dean stirred. "You got a penpal?"

"Tell me you weren't in awe of her!" Sam defended.

"No-no, she's definitely impressive," Dean agreed and gestured to Gen who shrugged and nodded, "I was definitely a little bit bi for the deity." Then she frowned, lips sideways. "Dei-sexual? Tri-dei-bi? But yeah, she was extraordinary."

Sam nodded steadily, eyebrows high above wide eyes, and sighed earnestly. "Shyuh, that was amazing…" He walked away shaking his head. "Let's get some food."

Gen and Dean stood there, affectionate smiles watching him leave. Dean turned back to Gen and waited for her to show him how she felt but her expression was neutral as she pulled on her jacket. He imagined striding over to her for a slamming hug. He was so proud, so impressed, so enamoured, so grateful she was okay. But then… He listened to Sam trudge away on the road. He really was starving and they needed to start a long drive back to their stuff. He tongued his swollen lip, felt the dried blood on his face, wondered about his ribs, looked at her again…

"I'm not going to touch you," he said, adding "I'm all gross and bruised. Really bruised."

"Okay," Gen forgave him, a little half smile, and drank in the way he looked at her for a few more seconds. Yeah, touching would just slow them down. She chewed her lip and made to go.

"She uh,… she said I was your love," he reminded her, only the slightest hint of cheek.

Gen stopped, swallowed, cleared her throat. "Yeah, well," she conceded evasively, "there's no one I like more."

"Really?"

"Probably."

He watched her eyes dodge him, started a slow grin. "I heard you call me your man."

Gen shook her head, and pointed at him as she walked a big arc around his reach. "I did fucken not, so don't start with me."

"Yeah, you did," he heckled. "It was mid bitch-slap and you got aaaall possessive."

"Nope-"

"Check the transcript, boss."

"-didn't happen."

"Yoooou said I'm yours."

She opened the barn door, moaning "You coming?"

He stood on the spot and asked "Permission to come, Ma'am?" in that damn voice. Didn't waggle a single thing.

Gen's eyes snapped to him and he felt her want right through to his shoulder blades. This fucken guy. She ran her tongue around the back of her teeth, her visual cortex apparently taking over her entire brain. All that adrenaline… "As if a defiant shit like you follows orders."

The lights of the Impala flared across her face and Dean had just enough time to see her pull it together before she walked out, letting the door fall closed behind her. He didn't attempt to catch up, just followed her silhouette as they walked back to the car, happy to walk in her shadow.

Gen took shotgun. "You should get some rest," she said to Dean, eyeing-off the back seat. "Yes Ma'am," he nodded and eased in before lying down. Sam noted their lack of contact, the tethered gazes, and made a mental note to get the hell out of the way once they got healthy.

Sam remembered a massive service station on the route, about an hour away. They stopped there for hot food and fuel, even found some ice-packs for their injuries. Dean only sat up to eat. Gen tried to stay awake to keep Sam company in the wee hours, providing some chat for his brain. She filled the first 90 minutes with tales of her hiatus, got him to share a few too, chatted about a few current events.

"Hey," she realised, "did you hear her say how the gate was a window first?"

"Uh, sorta," Sam tried to remember, "I could really only hear you then."

"She'd seen what an asshole Simon had been. Seen the whole set-up in fact, coz they drew it so early. Or heard, I assume… I wonder if she closed it behind her…"

"Do you think she would've known without that?"

"Grovelling, floury, patronising, manipulative, yet shitty jerks? Yeah, the whole thing reeked tricksy."

Sam smirked. "If they'd had any brains they would've offered you too." Gen looked at him as he explained. "A woman who's killed witches should've been offered as a sacrifice, in case she was a wrathful god. …I'm not sure what qualifies as a hero anyway. And if the plan had failed they would've had all three of us to torture."

"I think they thought failure would involve you two escaping, or being released. Maybe they didn't do any proper research on me either. Us mercurial women are a strange currency."

More road, a little town. "How annoying were those grunts?" Sam thought aloud.

"Holy shit, you shoulda seen'em before you arrived!" Gen described the way they'd bounced off James' dig. She wondered how successful they would've been without the demonic strength being removed.

"Did it feel like cheating?" Sam asked.

"Except for the part where they'd been heinous monsters for centuries… maybe. …Meh."

"Well, it looked brilliant," he glanced at her. "Seriously, I can't even- …Best violence porn ever."

Gen smiled a shy shrug. "It felt pretty good," and looked out the window, ran her thumbs over her tender knuckles. "Felt like I was avenging a lot more than us. It hurts but… feels cathartic."

They were nearing home now. She tried to rouse Dean but the only thing she could reach were his knees. "We'll be there in ten," she said. He mumbled something.

"I was thinking," she said after a few minutes, "if we needed to talk to Hecate again we could draw the gate and not do the spell. Like a one-way skype."

"Yeah, but why would we need to talk to her?" Sam asked.

"I dunno," Gen drawled, unable to pull in her smile and she tilted her head to him. "I might do one on the back of your bedroom door. Do we have invisible ink?"

"Don't even joke about it!" Sam pointed at her, "Don't even! I'll be walking around with a black-light for weeks." Gen laughed to herself but watched him out the corner of her eye. "Look at you thinkin'," she stirred quietly, "plannin' your strip routine already."

Sam chuckled quietly at the idea but only talked the talk. "Yeah," he shook his smiling head, "you're a bad influence."

She almost let it go, but for the voice from the backseat. "It's the best idea I've heard all day." Sam groaned. "Did you see the eyes she had for you? The many, many eyes…"

"No, Dean, she didn't. She was just tall…"

"Yeah?"

Sam waved a hand "-and inspecting thuuh-"

"You're once,"

"What?"

"…twice… Three taaaahmes a ladyyy."

"Gahdammit!" Sam smacked the wheel, grinning, "You can both fuck off!"  Gen threw her head back to laugh.  It was good after a long day-slash-night and it broke through their fatigue easier than anything.

They practically snailed through the doorway. Gen collected her things from her now-insecure room and mothered the brothers a little, helped them clean faces and organise heat or ice. In no time, Sam had flopped down on his bed, each breath getting noisier until he finally rolled over and hit the deep end.

Gen finished cleaning up Dean's face and wounds, took a loose hold of his fingers and led him to the side of the bed before peeling back the covers. She got him down to boxers ("Don't get any ideas," she warned, mostly to herself, as she slipped off his shirt. "Pff. I can't think, let alone idea," he slurred) and helped him ease his body flat. She changed in the bathroom, binned her bloodied clothes, and crawled into bed beside Dean. With her face down, shoulder to shoulder, under packs and blankets, they laced their fingers together on his belly. Gen whispered "I'm not going to touch you… much."

"'Kay" he whispered back, but lifted her fingers to kiss them. "I'll be here."

Gen's breathing quickly dropped down, her words sighing out of her. "These days…"

"Yeah," he agreed, and they slow-blinked each other to sleep.


	28. Cast a line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen fishes for some answers.

Some hours later, Dean woke up alone. He hadn't moved yet and that, coupled with the injuries, made him stiffer than he could ever remember. Sitting up felt like folding wood. He shuffled to the bathroom, past Sam star-fished on his bed, but it was just them. The laptop was open and he noted the wikipage. He checked his watch – lunchtime – painfully pulled on a sweater and track pants and stuck his head out the door to see if Gen was about. He walked down to her door, wondering what he'd find, and heard a voice from within.

Poking the door open enough, he edged through the small gap, looked around to find nothing, but then her voice came from the bathroom. He padded forward, trying to think of a good reason for why he wasn't announcing himself.

"Okay, so, this is Genevieve, from yesterday. You helped us last night… or entertained yourself, I dunno." Dean was in the middle of the room now, eavesdropping, and he felt guilty but was worried... okay, curious. She continued innocent of him. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting or inconveniencing you right now. I don't mean to presume you'll just pick up the phone whenever it suits me- ugh, hrrurururblublubluah" she was shaking her head and hands, meaning to start again. Dean smiled at the image. This time, her voice was sure and clear. "Hecate, I read this morning that you have helped warriors win their fights. That is, you've turned the outcome however you liked. So I'm asking: Did you help me? …Was my strength or ability borrowed?" In his mind's eye, Dean could see her face, how she'd be looking at herself as she spoke, and remembered what it was like to ask questions in the mirror. He heard her sigh into honesty. "…It's vain and selfish and doesn't make a difference to anything but my pride. I don't even know how you can answer me... I'm asking because if I don't ask now it'll eventually eat me up, and I should be brave enough to ask. The longer I wait, the sillier it seems…" She shifted and cleared her throat, standing straight again, he imagined. "I know I don't fall within your realm, as such, but I am grateful for your help last night. We are. It made all the difference, and the outcome was right. So, thank you. Thank you… Oh, and we did win. It was really quick and James was pathetic… Thanks."

She walked to the bathroom doorway, discovering an awkward and sore Dean. "Noooooo," she scolded.

"I'm sorryyyy," he moaned walking toward her. She moaned a mortified "grrrr!" over the top of him.

He pulled her into a ginger hug, smoothed her hair, and looked at the lipstick gate drawn on the mirror. She buried her face in his shoulder, and through the hands on her face said "Thiisissooembaarrassiiiing."

"No, it's not Gen," he rested his hands on the back of her ribs, which was about all he could manage. "And, for the record, the fight didn't look unusual to me. You seemed your regular awesome self."

She raised her head to peak at him, then dropped her hands in all seriousness. "Come on. Neither of us has ever seen me fight like that."

"You've never fought with someone of regular ability before. And you've never been free to unleash like that. I mean, a victim-free vessel with a deserving demon and no supernatural strength. That's a shark in a barrel. Every hunter's dream."

Gen stepped back a bit, both of them still in the bathroom doorway. She put her hands on her hips and frowned, looking through Dean while she thought.

"Didn't it feel good?" he asked, a little hungry for her side.

She took a moment to think. "Sam asked me if I thought it was cheating. But those guys, Dean, they were some ultimate assholes and for _centuries_ … I had this sick feeling, for a while, that I'd been too brutal, or vicious. But the more I think about it, the surer I feel that it was fair… I think I usually maintain, like, an honourable measure of mercy in whatever justice I do. But for some people mercy and justice shouldn't overlap." Dean listened and thought, his mind slipping to his share of retribution, and wondered if he could even begin to gauge those things. Gen saw him, the far away eyes, the growing guilt, and put a hand on his chest. "I'm not saying we should grade ourselves or anything. I don't. I just… I'm trying to protect my conscience."

"Yeah," he nodded as he drew her close, his lips to her forehead, "you're a lot better at that than me."

"You're a fixer-upper all right," she patted his chest, "I love a project."

He huffed a half-laugh. "In other news, that justice, Gen," he stroked her arm, "it wasn't just fair, it was ridiculously hot." She looked up at him suspiciously and he emphatically defended himself. "Please, just _let_ me tell you, seeing you dance around that asshole, knowing how deserving he was, and you just," he bit his lower lip and tilted his head, "Mm! My god, I just… It. Was. Glorious." Gen began to roll her eyes through the rambling compliment. "Stop it!" he scolded, "It was awesome! I don't know why Sam was still so keen on Hecate; he was way more impressed by you. That's how hot it was."

"A; that's not true, and B; you know, if she heard me, she can still hear you."

"I don't care," he said, pulling her near, "Sam practically drooled over it and all I can remember is panting at the sight of you raining down on that guy." He shook his head slowly while he explained, getting closer and closer to her, hands brushing over her cheek, jaw, arm. "Imagine my point of view, Gen: Tied to a pole, on the ground, the light behind you, dust curling about, sweat flingin' 'round, blood spatters, and watching this stunning woman _fight_ -" What's hotter? Inspiring or desiring? "-you just absorbing each blow, breaking that bastard in _stages_ for crap's sake, that fierce focus, that neat, tight style you got, and me all trussed up watching you dominate-" He kissed her, full and soft, hands around her head, breathing each other in again before tasting and laving at each other. It had been too long since they were this close and on each other. She gripped his shoulder, where she knew it was clear, but it wasn't enough. Her hands hovered over a few places, unsure of they he was sore, and quickly settling on pulling at the waist of his sweater because, sweet mercy, these kisses feel like the start of a bedroom sentence but going without them is worse.

He broke it off, consciously keeping it PG rated, and spoke with his lips on her temple to stay close. "Seriously, Gen, since you got back all I've done is collect reasons for why I shouldn'a let you go. Last night gave me about twenty."

"Right," she whispered, eyes closed and struggling to keep her switches off, tasting metal from someone's re-split lip. "Good to know. Okay…" She cleared her throat, "Well, as much as this is a completely inadequate encounter right now, unless you feel like rewarding Hecate with some invalid porn, I suggest we wrap it up and see how Sam's doing."

"I don't think she'd mind," he smiled into her.

Gen pulled back, pulled herself out of the warm smell of him, and gently held his face where the skin was normal. "I can have you later, yes?"

"Mmmmyes," he swayed a little, "have me-"

"When we're healed and fit for it?"

"Uuuuugh," he looked at the ceiling, "that could be days."

"Well, call it recuperation, punishment, penance, whatever. I'm frustrated enough; There's no way I'm having less than all of you when we do, so settle into having nothing for a bit." She pushed him backward as he groaned saying, "Go-on, git."

He hugged her waist as best he could as they slowly walked through the room. "Having you here ain't nothin'. We are going to chick-flick the crap out of this week."

"Really?! Damn! My ovaries won't cope – this is their week off!"

"Neither will mine, but you still need a massage so we may as well go the whole hog Louise."

Gen broke away and trotted back to the bathroom, using some toilet paper to wipe off the gate and did her best to pretend no one was watching. Getting back to Dean's side, she picked it up. "Damn straight I'm Louise. You're way more likely to let a hot hitch-hiker steal all our money, you and your swooning ovaries."


	29. Itches

Chick flicks are _saaaad._

"Okay," Gen got off the bed and stretched. "No more of that. What else have you got Sam?"

"On the hard drive?" he scanned his brain, "…Flying High. You had enough chin wobbling for one day, Gen?"

"Uhmygod, why do we do that to ourselves?!" she moaned and stretched and twisted around, angling toward the fridge, wondering about food. Most of the day had been spent recuperating, but it was really for Sam and especially Dean who'd come up all pretty and colourful from their fights. Gen hadn't really needed it and was finally feeling itchy.

"You want something violent? Some kung fu?" Sam offered.

"Yeah, I spose," she answered, taking stunted lunging steps to the kitchenette to work out her legs.

Dean was still slumped on the bed, trying to not watch Gen too much. He was enjoying how slack she was being around him, like an oblivious housemate. More yawning and arms everywhere, she'd successfully shown off her hip bones and made a series of sexy noises over again. "Oh, ulchh," she sneered at the fridge, "I _know_ you've got nothing, teasing bitch." She shuffled toward the bathroom and hooked her fingers over the top of the doorframe, hanging her hips and stretching her back one last time. Dean's jaw had already gone slack and Sam couldn't help but notice him watch her. She shut the bathroom door just as Dean shut his mouth.

"How you doin' there tiger?" Sam asked.

"Me? I'm fine," Dean answered, pulling himself upright. "Why?"

"You seem a little distracted," Sam nodded toward the bathroom.

"Shaddup," he scoffed, pretending to be above it, "I'm allowed. And she's… all… you know!" He waved his arm toward the bathroom, pleading for Sam's understanding.

"She has no idea what she's doing to you!" he laughed in reply, as quietly as he could.

"Oh my god," Dean rubbed the heel of his hand into his good eye, "it's killing me. She's either completely clueless, which is just adorable, or she knows exactly what she's doing, which is hot as fuck… She kept snuggling into me during the movies, and then her bed-hair, and now… _that…_ I hate being injured."

Sam shrugged, "I do not envy you man."

Sam looked through the fridge himself while Dean tried to think unsexy thoughts. Gen emerged from the bathroom saying "It's already too late to drive back today-"

"That's just what I was about to say," Sam commented.

"-so what will we do tonight?" she asked, hands on hips.

"Like what?" Dean asked. There wasn't much he was fit for.

"I dunno," she shrugged, "a bar, some dancing?"

"Dancing?!" Dean repeated, apparently disgusted. "Gen, I can't even stand up quietly, let alone dance."

"Yeah, I'm not up for much either," Sam added. "If you don't want to watch any more movies, fair enough, but a card game is probably my limit tonight."

"Hurrrrrrrr," Gen let out a sad-faced sigh. "Okay, well I'll go get us some dinner. Maybe that'll be enough for me."

"Cool cool cool," Dean answered. "Pizza?"

"Done," she yanked on some boots and grabbed her jacket. Sam took his turn in the bathroom, and Gen took the opportunity to give Dean a peck before heading out.

"Hey," he grabbed her waistband and hooked a finger into her shirt collar, pulling her close for a proper kiss, soft and warm. Gen hummed a little, but before she could break away she found Dean fighting to make more of it. "Hey," she laughed, "I'm meant to be going, and Sam'll be out-"

"There is no way you're leaving me with just a peck on the cheek," Dean grumbled. "You teasing me on purpose today?"

Gen looked at him; the poor guy was up for so much more than was allowed, but pity could wait. "You _spooned_ me," she whispered accusingly, "and then you slipped your damn fingers under my shirt!" Dean grinned, having forgotten he may have been guilty too. "I'm all achy from trying to keep still," Gen complained.

She gave him a half-hearted slap on the arm while he giggled at her grief. He let her collar go, taking her hand instead as she stood straight, asking "What toppings you thinking of?"

She smiled slyly. "Meat lllllovers," she slurred, then kissed his hand with a wink before heading off.

As the boys sat around the table, finishing off their slices, Gen was already full and leaning back in her seat, figuring what she could do to work off her restlessness. Or, in truth, how to present her solution.

"Muh," Dean said through his food, "that was some good pie. Pity we didn't have a real drink to go with it." Gen had gotten beers, but didn't know the whiskey had run out.

"You could've texted, you muppet," she nudged Dean's thigh with her socked-foot. He grabbed her ankle, mid-shove and put it on his leg, rubbing her automatically. She decided to leave it there and try relaxing for a change.

She took a bit of a breath. "You guys ok with me going out by myself?" she asked. They both looked at her, Dean's expression curious.

"I saw a night club up the main drag, something dooffy but probably my kinda era," she described. "I could do with half an hour of the boogie-oogie." She looked at Sam but it was really Dean she needed to worry about.

"When was the last time you went out dancing?" Sam asked.

"About a month after a met you guys, but being busy with you two has kept me… you know, occupied. I used to go at least twice a month," she explained. "It was my whiskey."

Dean's eyebrows went up and he nodded. He wanted to be cool with her going out alone. He knew what it was like to be deprived of little luxuries of habit. He knew, logically, sensibly, that she'd be fine. But it was still jarring.

Gen could tell he was faking. "You want to supervise," she stated to Dean.

He shifted in his seat, wincing at her observation, and licked his lip as he sighed. "…Only to make myself feel better."

"Well, it won't make you feel much else. I can't dance for shit, I just like it," she offered and watched him chew his mouth as he looked at the table, trying not to be a douche bag.

Momentarily though, he plucked up a half-hearted, almost convincing tone and said "Yeah, you should go." He waggled his head aimlessly, looking at Sam for reassurance, which he got in the form of actual nodding. "It's fair enough… You're not, like, raging all night or anything."

"Ha! No Daddy," Gen smiled, missing him twinge, "my curfew will probably get me back in time for the last few hands."

She got up, collected some things from her bag and went to the bathroom to change.

"It's fair enough," he repeated to Sam, "she's probably got cabin fever, and she's not as beat up as us. She should go, work off some steam."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, almost dimpling his cheeks to hold in the smile, "work off some steam." Dean's clenching glare did force some teeth to poke through. "She'll be fine," Sam moaned. "If she's keen to dance she'll be ready to fight. Woe betide the ass who goes there, right?" He raised and offered his bottle.

"Amen," Dean agreed, tapping his drink in a toast. "That ass shall betide an epic wupping I'd bet," he took a swig. "In fact I'd tag along just to see _that_ again."

Sam laughed through his drink as Gen appeared again. Some eye-liner, tight jeans, boots, one black racer-back singlet and her leather jacket - it wasn't that suggestive, especially with the messy high bun she hadn't changed, but Dean just had no objectivity with her any more. She'd become ten-times hotter in 2 minutes.

"Okay, I'm off," she shuffled things into her pockets. "Back soon."

She stopped by Dean to cup his jaw and deliver a heartfelt kiss on the way past. Sam cleared a few things and went to the sink – he was getting really good at strategic 'absence'.

"You stay safe," Dean said.

"Will do," Gen assured.

He kissed her again, harder, and smiled as best he could in place of every warning and wish he was thinking.

"You're very good," Gen whispered, slipping her thumb over his eyebrow. He kissed him on the forehead again before disappearing out the door, a quick kind smile to her new boyfriend as she went.

They sat quietly as they listened to Gen's car pull out and hoon away for an hour or so of independent freedom.

Dean shuffled in his seat, awkwardly, recrossed his arms and sighed through his nose. "Never seen her wear an outfit like that before," he chatted.

"'Spose that's what she wears dancing," Sam surmised, "and she hasn't gone dancing with us."

"Huh," Dean thought. He eyed off his car keys and picked at his beer label. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, and suddenly looked like he was holding down puke. "You think she'd forgive me if I followed?"

Sam sighed. "I dunno man… I think it depends on how you follow her."

"I won't…intervene," he rationalised, waving a hand, "I'll just… observe."

"Like supervise," Sam looked unconvinced, "or perve?"

Dean frowned at him. "Well, she doesn't really need my protection-"

"I know!"

"-but if I could just see…" he was fraught by the unknown. "I can't imagine anything good happening. Don't look at me like that! I mean, every scene I know of is her being sexy and hit on by some Cro-Magnon… or a monster shows up…"

"Man, just go!" Sam threw his hands up; Dean was already out of his chair. "You're pathetic, you know that? Who's going to protect you from her?"

"Future Dean can worry about that," he muttered, hauling on his shoes and jacket.

"Future Dean's going to be embarrassed," Sam commented. "You'll learn your lesson."

"Whatever," was the reply as he snatched his keys off the table before storming out the door.


	30. Scratches

Dean found what was most likely to be the dooffy place Gen meant, and parked the Impala on the street side. Rounding the building, he could see her car under a light in the parking lot and caught sight of her entering the venue. Gathering his shit, Dean prepared for terrible music and went to wait in line _like an animal_.

Inside, was exactly as painful as predicted. Straight off, he could spot the regulars who had nowhere else to go, versus the tourists in the shitty seats. To his left was the dance floor with raised levels on its sides and a DJ at the back; to the right was what probably looked like a regular bar in the daylight. Even though she'd let her hair down, Dean quickly recognised Gen directly in front of him, placing an order. Dean hung back and watched as she got her drink and headed to the edge of the dance floor. Once she'd settled on a spot, he skulked around to the other bar, got a beer, and found a stool next to the action and out of the light.

The music soon picked up, and so did the crowd. Song selections jumped around the decades and Dean shook his head as the DJ took each song to the first chorus before moving on already. Apparently he was going to fit in the last 30 years of top 10s into the one evening.

Gen politely turned down two guys offering a dance, pointing at her glass in excuse. She was already rocking her shoulders while she sat, finishing off some clear-liquor drink. Then something turned up she liked – a song Dean recognised from long ago, but could never have named… Something Widow? – and Gen knocked off the last gulp before heading into the thick of the crowd in the strobing darkness.

Dean moved seats to get a better look. She could dance. Not ballerina form or anything, but she had this pulse in her chest, something she let reverberate in her hips and shoulders. Then she'd do the base with her hips in this sideways dip, and let her shoulders knock out the drum beat. It took a while to recognise but it was really quite a complicated, yet accurate, interpretation of the rhythm.

Bottom line though, it didn't matter what she did. She was alone, with a good form and an easy face so she was fair game. The lighting did its job too, and Dean watched every guy who was on the look-out notice her as she moved. He gripped his beer and reminded himself that this should be entertaining, not upsetting: Gen would handle them all.

She danced on, eyes closed, soft smile, fingers loose and soft as she relived sounds that made her happy. She moved around in her little space and soon felt a large form behind her. She turned to him, hands up with a friendly shake of the head mouthing "Sorry, no," and charmed him away. He surrendered instantly and moved off.

Well, thought Dean, that was painless. Maybe it was too early in the night for the dickheads to show themselves.

A few other sensible guys had seen Gen's knock back and continued checking out other women. Gen kept on enjoying the music.

Two songs later, Dean was wondering if he was about to royally embarrassing himself just as Sam had warned. Not only was this not his scene at all but, except for getting to watch Gen, it was boring. Even if anything did happen, and she didn't end up needing him, he was simply hoping that maybe later on she might kinda still be glad he came… maybe? Yet if things kept on like this, he'd just look sad.

Another guy presented himself to Gen, snapping Dean to the present. He came from behind and ground himself into her back, large hands spread on her hips. Dean saw her jut her jaw in annoyance as she peeled his fingers off her bones. She turned and shook her head no at him, said as much with her mouth, then smiled apologetically as she moved away. But he was having none of it and pawed at her again, pleading with his face when she turned to frown at him. Dean watched the conversation he couldn't hear.

"C'mooon," the guy whined, "you're so sexy! Dance with me!"

"No," Gen yelled into his ear, "I'm dancing alone tonight. Thank you." She loosely pulled his wrists away from herself and moved to go, but he grabbed back at hers so that her elbows were exposed. He smiled stupidly and leaned in again to say "Just one-"

"I'm about to knee you in the nuts," she interrupted. He pulled back to consider her and got a death-stare. He hesitated, so she pressed the point with a caution: "You don't know me."

Dean grinned and drank his beer. _This is worth all the trouble._

Gen's idiot gave it up and retreated sourly. She took a moment to pull in her fierce face, relax and looked at the ceiling for some sort of help. This came in the form of a stranger: a woman who'd been dancing nearby reached out and gently squeezed her arm, offering an apologetic smile. "Wanna dance with us?" she offered.

 _Thank you cosmos, you're awesome_. "Yeah!" Gen answered, "That'd be great. I'm Gen!"

"Anna," she offered. She tapped her friend on the arm to make some space and yelled to her group, "This is Gen!"

They waved and smiled as they danced. The girl beside her thumbed over her shoulder at Gen's close encounter, making an ugly face about him. Gen happily nodded Yes and tapped her fist on her forehead, mouthing "Dickhead" in agreement.

Dean took a deep breath. Regardless of how nice it was to watch Gen beat off assholes and charm new people, he was officially being a tool if he stayed. She was having a great time and would probably be out later than promised. He knew he should go back and keep Sam company, but instead compromised with moving the Impala to a dark spot where he could see the club entrance and Gen's car. And there he waited, Dadding.

Inside, Gen and her adopted posse turned down a series of guys, except for Anna. She hooked up with someone quite enthusiastically, right there and then. Gen took it as her cue to wrap up the night and say her goodbyes and thank yous.

Before leaving, she went to the bar for a glass of water and was quickly joined by a neat, shiny guy on her right. She was barely in the mood any more.

"Hey Rocky," he smiled.

Gen bounced her eyebrows and pinched a smile in tight acknowledgement. He took a deep breath and levelled his gaze at her before saying "I'm Dolos."

It took her a moment, but when it clicked she turned to face him fully, tilted her head and said "Really."

"Yes. Hecate sent me."

Gen blinked. "That was quick."

"Was it? Sometimes time is different," he sipped his drink. "Anyway, this is my penance for being a meddling so-and-so, she says."

Gen was all interest and formality. "What's the penance?"

"Delivering her message. She said to say 'You worked alone'," he sipped again.

Gen gave away nothing. "Okay," she said blandly, a shallow nod, "Thanks." She turned back to the bar to down the rest of her water.

"What happened to Simon and co.?" Dolos asked.

Gen chewed her lip sternly, choosing between her thoughts… "Do humans matter to you?"

"Mmm," he replied with a shrug.

Right. Of course. There was so much she wanted to say but it felt so instantly useless. _Thank you for sacrificing us Asshole; thanks for offering up two of the most important people on the planet Dickhead; cheers for not giving us a clue of what was coming Dipshit; you know we could probably figure out how to kill Greek spirits too, Douche bag._ But if he didn't care about people then he wouldn't care what they thought.

Gen grabbed her jacket and flatly reported "We're very good at killing things." Dolos paused and gave a slight, civil nod: He didn't miss a thing.

She left, pushing her way through the bouncing crowd, away from the short line outside and toward her car.

Dean sat up in his seat, spotting her form instantly, and grabbed the door handle when he noticed a guy following her some ways behind. Her car was in the light but well away from the bouncers. Dean remembered himself decided to wait and watch.

"Hey," the guy called to Gen. She wasn't close enough to her car to have taken out her keys, but turned to see who this was.

"Hey," he said again more quietly, and stopped a few yards short. "I saw you dancing in there."

Gen said nothing.

"You're a really good dancer," he added and didn't seem the least put out that she didn't reply again. Which was a bad sign.

Gen tilted her head a little to look around him, check he was alone.

"You know," he went on, "you turned down my friend before."

"Which one?" she asked.

"The tall guy, with blonde hair," he answered. "You said you were going to kick him in the balls."

"Knee him in the nuts," she corrected.

"Right…" he nodded and licked his lips. "Well, I'm a nicer guy than he is. Do you want to come back inside and dance with me?"

Gen eyed him suspiciously and decided to take note of her surroundings, the space and surfaces, what she could use: Nothing that was subtle. "No," she replied and turned to walk away.

The guy walked after her. She heard him take a deep drawing breath but knew it was actually a lungful of her scent. Disgust overwhelmed her. She noticed something silver and reflective piled by a dumpster and that was when, to Dean's confusion, she decided to walk past her car at the end of the row and onto the rubbish on the edge of the carpark, almost into darkness.

Dean didn't even think about it. He got out of the car and stood there and watched, holding the handle to tether himself before he gave himself away for good.

Gen went directly to the metal she'd spied and looked it over. It seemed to be piece of a ventilation duct – tinny metal with a sharp enough edge on one side. She stood and turned to face her attacker.

"This is the most boring chase I've ever had," he drawled.

"I'm going to take your head off," she explained. "I don't really need to know what you are."

"You don't think I'm human?" he grinned.

"See how you knew I meant literally?"

"Ah, well, I won't bother with the chit chat then," and he lunged.

As soon as the action started Dean bolted towards them. The scuffle went straight to the ground and he couldn't hear anything over his own footsteps and breathing. Yet when he got there, the guy was in two pieces and Gen was rising again, watching Dean trot to a halt.

"You're kidding me!" she declared. "Aaaah HA HA HA HA-"

"Hey, shuddup," Dean pointed with the knife he'd already drawn.

She kept laughing, red-flecked hands on her hips.

"No, Gen," he tried explaining, "I just… I was just…" but she kept laughing, leaning forward, and it was beginning to get to him. _"Genevieve!_ Knock it off!"

At that she had to put her hand over her mouth, because the fugly silent laugh had set in. He fumed at her while she stomped her foot, hand over belly, eyes tearing. In the time it took him to look at the sky, put his knife away and cross his arms, Gen had reigned it in to a controlled chuckle. She stepped around the body and walked toward her car.

"M-hm-hm, a ha," she wiped her eyes, "o-ho Dean… get in your fucking car," she said, walking away. "I'll race you back."

He watched her go, completely unsure of whether he should be scared or if she was fussed at all, but then she caught his eye as she opened her door and gave him a solid, flat expression full of "you dickhead".

She took her time, docking her phone and queueing up a song. By the time she was heading off she almost ran into Dean reversing from his spot, and grandly gestured for him to go first. He looked pretty sore about it. A mile of conservative driving was all he could handle before hooning off toward the hotel. She laughed again.

Dean stormed through the doorway and headed straight for the fridge.

"You okay?" Sam checked.

"For the moment," he muttered and cracked open the beer.

Sam began to pack up the laptop and start his night routine. He was at the bathroom door when Gen walked in saying "You're a great guy Sam."

He looked at Gen, then at Dean, who was scowling at the fridge.

"Of all the men I've met today, you're the nicest," she continued. "You haven't groped me, you haven't told me what I said, you haven't tested my trust and you haven't tried to kill me." She threw her jacket on the larger bed and leaned against a chair. "Yep, you're a top guy."

"You know," Sam said, snatching a change and his bathroom bag, "I reckon I can fix that door." He trotted out, making an awkward teeth-baring face at Gen in apology as he passed.

With Sam gone, and Gen levelling a scolding glare at him, Dean gave it a red hot go. "Hey, I almost saved your ass!"

Gen looked at the wall, then back to him. "Sweetheart-"

"You know? If you hadn't killed that thing, you'd have been so lucky I was there!" He was doing his best to sound righteous.

"If I'd blown a tyre you could've fixed it for me," she said.

"Yeah!" he bellowed, instantly recoiling, because he'd seen her fix tyres too.

"Or thrown your jacket over a puddle," she added dryly. "Oh my luck."

He heaved his chest and dropped his gaze. "Gen-"

"You're fucken adorable," she said dripping acid, "you know that?" And walked past him to the bathroom.

He put his beer down and stood by the closed door. "Gen," he started again, "I know you can handle yourself-" he couldn't go on over the sound of tinkling on porcelain.

"Keep talking honey," she called out, "I'm listening."

"Ugh," she heard his forehead thud on the wood, "it'll keep," he muttered.

By the time Gen had washed the blood off her hands and kicked off her boots and socks, she came out to find Dean sitting in a kitchenette chair, half his beer gone and half the label shredded.

He stood, intending to keep control of the conversation, but Gen hadn't calmed that much. She reacted to his tone more than anything.

"Ok, Gen, look. You can't expect-"

"No, you look!" she said, walking into him and backing him up to the bench. "You keep talking like you have some magical higher ground here. You don't. You led me to believe I would be out tonight unsupervised -"

"You guys keep using that word-"

"And you intended to not be found out, right?"

"I didn't want you to be angry, or hurt-"

"Then don't do the thing that angers or hurts me!" she barked, inches from his face.

He looked at her, equal parts contrite, indignant and turned-on. "How am I supposed to let you go out by yourself?" he asked. "How am I supposed to not worry about you?"

"What you do," she ground out, "is say 'Gen, baby, I don't think I can let you go out completely alone. I'd like to but I'm probably going to follow you. Please let me tag along?'"

Dean began to nod as he listened. Gen held him with her glare as she spoke. "You say 'I trust you. I'll give you your space. You won't even know I'm there. Please, Gen, let me come too.' Okay?"

"Okay."

"Can you remember something like that?"

"Yeah, I can," he said softly.

"Good. Take your shirt off," she ordered.

"What?"

"Take your shirt off. Show me where it still hurts."

It took him a moment but he did it, Gen stepping back enough to give him room. His colours had changed, receded a little, and it was mostly his ribs and gut that seemed the worst.

"So, here, and here…" he did circles with his hands and fingers to indicate. "A little bit here… and this, this is tender." She noted it but he did see her face say _Yeah, not too thick, sooky-lala_. He cleared his throat and wrapped it up. "So, yeah… still pretty sore."

"My poor baby," she said, not entirely compassion-less. "What about this?" she asked, twisting his shoulders, "does it hurt to move?"

"It hurts to use my abs."

"And this?" Gen slowly lifted his elbows so his arms were high above his head, wrists hitting the cupboard behind him. "Is that comfortable?"

"Yeah," Dean breathed, pulse awakened.

She looked at him, ran her fingers over his torso while she thought. When her eyes met his again they seemed more sad than angry. "You lied to me. We should be redoing P. For Punishment."

Dean hesitantly dropped his arms. "Yeah," he admitted, almost a whisper. "I'm so sorry Gen."

"I don't think punishing you would be much fun if I really meant it. If I were angry."

A big part of him was deeply relieved at that. "Maybe you'll want P for Penance?"

"Maybe," she looked at him and smiled gently, "You might be onto something there." She found his hands and pulled at his fingers. "A hug first please."

"Yeah, me too," he sighed and wrapped her up in a warm, swaying embrace, kissing her head and apologising again.

She wriggled her arms out and hugged him back. "I forgive you," she muffled into his shoulder, "I kind of forgave you back at the carpark."

"Yeah, I kinda got that," he mumbled. "Oh my God."

Gen began to chuckle against him.

"Holy crap, you scared the shit outta me with that laughing," he admitting, laughing with her.

"Genevieve!" she mocked _"Knock it off!"_

"Oh my God," he moaned, embarrassed, putting his hand over his face as they both laughed at his hopeless self.


	31. Bye bye banshee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, the first time I posted this I was missing a chunk at the start...

“Wave Sam,” Gen says, tilting her hand at the bush blurring by the car. “Fond memories.”

“Thanks for that,” he says, acting less-than-entertained about her reference to his emergency stop some days ago. “You sure you don't want to do the house duty Gen?”

“Kind of,” she admits. “A chat and a cuppa with Mabel would probably be good for both of us, but I blab. And I don't know that I could deprive her of your company,” she says, smiling at Sam in the backseat. “Can you? In all honesty?”

“She's a grieving widow, Sam,” Dean chimes in. “Your presence has healing power.”

“Knock it off,” he sighs, smothering the smile. “You guys were bad enough when you were single. This ganging up thing is getting unfair.”

“Don't worry, Dean's turn will come,” Gen assures.

“My turn?! What about you?”

“Everyone loves me,” but both of them chuckle to themselves like _yeah right_ , then laugh out loud at that. “Shit!” Gen squeaks, laughing along.

Mabel Carruthers meets them at the foot of her steps, hands clasped under her bust again with a relieved smile on her face.

“Well, aren't you three a sight for sore eyes?” she sighs. “No suits today?”

Dean starts with “Morning, ma'am-”

“Mabel,” she corrects.

“Mabel,” he smiles respectfully, “we figure we might be doin' some grunt work today, so decided to keep it casual.”

“The civvies suit some of us more than others,” Gen added, sharing a private smile with their host.

Mabel reclasps her hands in response saying “Well, let me get you some drinks while we talk,” then reaches over to loop her arm through Gen's, leading everyone up the steps and into the kitchen with lemonade waiting on the table.

The funeral had gone well, as far as funerals can, and Mabel had been for a walk into the woods again to see if anything came back to her about the murders and deaths. “I'm afraid I can't be much help except to say that some of the trees are new since then. I tied string around the ones I'm sure are younger than the murders, so anywhere closer to the house is probably more likely.”

“That is a huge help ma'am-”

“Sam if you keep calling me ma'am I'm going to start calling you Sir,” Mabel warns, collecting their glasses and leaving the table. Dean leans across, whispering _Do it!_ and Sam scowls back.

“Sorry, Mabel, that will make a great difference. Gen and Dean are going to do the initial search.”

“Right, well that's good news,” she beams. “Now, Sam, I can see you've all been through something recently,” -she waves around her face in reference to their injuries- “but I must confess I have a job in mind I's hoping you wouldn't mind considering..?”

“Yeah! Sure,” Sam half bursts. “This looks worse than it is. I'll take a look, I'm not that handy though.”

“You are _plenty_ handy, Sam,” Gen assures. “We're going to get started on the woods.” Gen smiles and stands, noting Dean's halting movements as he straightens and keeps herself from handling him as they leave the house.

“How long have they been together?” Mabel asks once they're gone.

“Uuuh,” Sam's hesitant to confess the relationship, but ends up sighing “not long enough.”

Gen and Dean walk around behind the buildings and traipse a wide arc, quickly finding the string-wrapped trees and mapping the space they're dealing with. It takes barely two sentences to agree on a method to sweep the area and, with EMFs in hand, they slowly survey the land for anything they can find.

Meanwhile, Mabel shows Sam the shed tiles that have slipped and cracked during the winter, and it turns out he can very well duplicate the roofing with a few fresh shingles. He's quite happy to do it, too, since he's keeping the weather off the mower he sharpened not a week ago.

Mabel stands and chats to him as he works, some about the funeral, some about what Gen and Dean are up to, but just as he's shifting the ladder for the last bit, Gen and Dean return for the shovels.

“Already?” he calls.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, going past towards the car.

“Are you done?” Mabel asks Gen as she approaches.

“No, we need to dig for their bones. Hopefully they're not too far apart from each other,” Gen explains. “Can we have Sam back for a bit?”

“We don't need Sam,” Dean calls.

“Dean-” Gen starts.

“We don't need Sam,” he says gruffly, and Mabel watches Gen make a face of tested patience as he tramps past, pretending that carrying the shovels, fuel and salt is completely painless in his state. “Two's enough.”

Gen watches his back as he returns into the woods, and Mabel says “Lot more of that comin' honey.”

“Ugh,” Gen shakes her head. “Got a bottomless pit of that crap ready and waiting, Mabel.” Then she mouths at Sam _10 minutes,_ flexing all her fingers wide,and he nods back smiling.

Still, when he turns up a quarter hour later, ready to help, Dean asks “What are you doing here?”

“I was done,” Sam shrugs back, and drops the iron weapons on the ground.

Dean leans on the shovel and glares knowingly at Gen, who doesn't even need to think of a response because Sam says “I don't mind watching you dig; reminds me of how I'm not.”

Dean flings the shovel onto the ground and gets out of the ditch he's begun – something half as deep as his usual form. Gen climbs in and takes her turn, making good ground in the soil but having a bitch of a time once she hits the tree roots. The boys use the other shovels to jab and cut at them as she keeps digging, then swaps it over to Sam once it gets more than waist deep.

Some time later, they hear a familiar crunch in the damp earth and Gen drops in to help reveal the body. By the time they crawl, however, out they're looking at a bit over 400 bones, not the usual 200 or so.

“You think it's better or worse that they're going out together?” Gen mutters.

“I dunno,” Sam says. “Hope he burns first though... really wish we could do hers second.”

“What if we...” Gen wondered. “That pelvis is certainly hers. Would it be terrible to pull it separate and throw it in after he's gone? Keep her around a few seconds longer?”

“Yeah...” Dean was wondering too. “She might not go straight away, but being partially burned-”

“Yeah, no, it's a bad idea,” Gen says. “We'll just have to watch our backs.”

Which starts straight away. A streak of grey-white flashes past, possibly around them, and all three of them look up as Sam grabs a fireplace poker from the ground. Gen and Dean start to empty the salt and fuel into the hole. They need to take the time to coat as much of each bone as possible since it's all wet, but the spirit starts sweeping around them again, building speed and noise. A separate scream, hollow and warning, echoes about them where echoing shouldn't be possible, and follows the chilling vision as it flashes by, the empty face of a skin-draped skull warping past. Gen collects an ash shovel and helps Sam swipe and lunge at what they can see. They almost miss it when it hovers over the hole and reaches into Dean's chest to squeeze his heart, just as he's pulling out the ignition. Dean falls backwards and Sam and Gen almost get each other when they slice through the spirit's space.

Dean sits up, gasping and grunting. He snatches the matchbook from the ground and starts a flame, lighting the others carefully while Gen watches over him and Sam over her. Dean scoots back from the edge, keeping the flames from licking his legs and Gen squats beside him. His arm reaches around her waist as they watch the two spirits begin to swirl around them in noisy, protesting ribbons of glittering orange, one in rage and the other in relief.

The dampness must be slowing the spread of fire because this end is long, the each loop around them coming closer and closer. Soon they're holding their arms up to shield their faces from the flames and when it's done, embers twinkling around them like a mean fairy ring, their clothes are unnaturally warm.

Gen turns in Dean's hold, placing a hand over his chest, demanding “You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” he says.

“Really, nothing aches? It's all moving like it should?”

“Yeah, I'm okay, really,” he says, quite honestly.

“What about you Sam?”

“I'm good,” he nods, collecting their things in a pile.

“Okay,” Gen says, patting Dean as she makes to stand, “better get this hole filled.”

“Hey, what about you?” Dean checks, brushing his hand over her hair.

She sees him wince and look awkward and he pathetically does the action a few more times. “Did you just get a whole lot of forest debris in my hair?”

Dean pinches a smile, saying “Ahaha... good intentions?”

“You muppet,” she sighs and pulls him close by his jacket. “I'm glad you're not worse than you were before,” she says and gives him a hearty kiss.

As soon as they break apart he's groaning, “I'm fine!” and clenching his jaw at the replies of _Bullshit_ and _oh my God_. He manages to do his share of grave refilling silently, almost keeping up, but not without a few stunted breaths.

Back at the car, they dust themselves off after stowing their gear and prepare to chat to Mabel on the steps.

“Come in!” she insists, “just take your shoes off, but I've cooked, you must come in!”

“Oh Mabel,” Gen exclaims at the spread on the table, “you didn't have to do lunch!”

“Oh, only the mash is fresh; people have been bringing me food all week,” she brushes off.

They wash up and fix themselves enough to be fit for a meal with cutlery, and everyone sits for a good five minutes of thankful, silent scoffing.

“So, Mabel,” Dean says, the first to finish his plate. “Mm, man, that is some good food. We're pretty sure we got all the bones.”

“Pretty sure?” she repeats. “What happens if you're wrong?”

“Well, hard to say... one or both of the spirits would still be here... but when you burn the bones you tend to get a pretty big response and considering how things went, I think they're gone.”

Mabel blinked at her plate, confused about his vagueness.

Gen added to Dean's words. “Usually the spirits try to fight us, especially the vengeful ones, and we had a pretty thorough fight with a clear end. Like what it usually is when it works. The remains looked complete too.”

“Alright then,” Mabel said, nodding sternly at the table. “Alright. So it's likely all done with.”

“God willing,” Gen smiled.

As they cleared the table and readied to leave, Sam and Mabel talked about the shed and her son Joel, commiserating over what help he may or may not be in the coming years. In her mind, Gen ran through all the things she wanted to check on and say, realising none of them were appropriate for someone they'd met twice and would likely never see again. She hoped pleasant smiles and kindness would suffice.

On the porch, Mabel clasped Gen's arm again while they began their goodbyes. She reached out to give a hug to Dean, finishing with “I'm hugging you gently,” and looked him in the eye when she added “because you are _injured_.”

“I'm not-”

“Injured. You hear me? _Rest_.” She patted him on the chest as she said it. “Let her take care of you.”

Poor Dean didn't know where to look, and his gaze dashed between Maternal Mabel and Bemused Gen.

Mabel turned to Gen and pulled her in for a warm, rubbing embrace, something long enough to threaten Gen's composure and miss her own family. Mabel didn't have anything to say to her, nothing that would fit into a good-bye, but their smiles were earnest and generous and Mabel led them down the steps toward the car.

Sam, half expecting his own send off, hung back a bit under the premise of offering another business card. “Just in case,” he said. “The number on the back is a bit more long-term.”

Mabel turned it over, looking at it carefully as she asked “Are you really FBI?”

Sam took a second and decided to go all the way: “Our name's Winchester, if you need us.”

“Winchester!” Mabel exclaimed looking up at him. “Yes! Men of Letters! They tried to help the first time.”

Sam blinked and shook his head, “How- ...how the hell did we miss that?” He looked at Dean, who seemed just as flummoxed.

“Well, I was a bit guarded I suppose,” Mabel figured. “Thank you,” she said and motioned him closer to give Sam his hug. He almost got to lean over but she got in there early, her head coming to rest on his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. “Yes,” she murmured, adjusting her hold, “oh yes.... Your grandfather was good too.”

Gen put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at Sam's face. He managed to pull it friendly again and when they broke it up Mabel had his ribs in her hands, grinning and gripping him happily at the moment before patting his chest away.

With everyone at a car door, Sam paused and asked “Mabel to you mind if I call you about that? For our files?”

“Of course!” she flapped a hand at him. “Anytime, Sam, any time.”

“Alright,” he nodded.

Everyone opened their doors, Gen saying “Take care Mabel.”

“You too, honey,” she replied and stepped over to lean for a quick cheek to cheek kiss, like they were saying good bye as they did every week.

The trip back was quiet, as was repacking and check out, but what conversation they did have was relaxed and cheery. Dean even let the others move most of the gear.

 


	32. Nurse Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is feeling pouty- I mean, poorly, and needs a little looking after.

Over the next few weeks, Gen and Dean hit a string of bad luck. His recovery from this set of injuries – neatly overlapping with her lady days - wasn't unusually drawn out, but the next hunt did slow it down. Searching for a corpse by clambering in and out of air ducts and vents - stubbornly trying to prove he was _better_ \- had actually made things worse.

Then he got a flu.

“I don't understand, why are you so sick?” Gen had asked at the end of the fifth day. She frowned at him and took his temperature. It was high, but not alarming.

“I don't knoooow,” he moaned. “It's the worst flu I've ever had.”

She had brought him broth and water, distractions and hot and cold packs and he rolled around and groaned interminably. The only pleasure Gen got from it was the melodrama and blocked-nose accent.

“Why amb I still sick?” he whined as she cleared about a tray of drugs and food.

“Three days to come, three days to stay, three days to go,” she advised. “That's what my mom said. And I'm beginning to think sickness is your cryptonite.”

“What do you mbean?” he sighed, arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “It's everyone's cryp'tondite.”

“I mean, I'm sure you're quite sick, but you're also a massive sook.”

“What?” he scowled at her, a burst of energy unmatched this week. “ _I amb not!_ ”

She turned down her mouth and raised her eyebrows. _If you say so._

“ _I'not!_ I'mb sick!” he pouted earnestly. “My muscles itch and my skin creaks... and I'm bored shitless.”

“Aah, well, yeah. That's probably the worst part,” Gen agreed.

“Hey,” she began, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I know you've felt too gross for words recently, but would you like a sponge bath... or something?”

She offered it pretty innocently, but still he had a good long think about it, what it might lead to and whether he was really fit for much. “Maybe getting clean will make you feel better?”

“I can't prombise anythingk,” he warned.

“Ugh, Dean, you stink and you're all sick-sweaty. Very blergh,” Gen assured. “It'd just be something nice.”

He smiled at her and pulled in a snotty breath, sighing “Yeah, nice would be nice.”

Gen took herself off to the bathroom to get everything she could imagine needing and Dean tried to think sensible, not-raunchy thoughts so he didn't exhaust himself before she even pulled the sheet back.

For some reason, just seeing Gen walk into the room with the piles of towels and fresh sheets made his eyebrows tilt. She was wearing a white, low v-necked t-shirt with jeans and bare feet, hair plaited to the side, all domestic. She returned with two buckets of water, one quite steamy, and wash cloths and a floor mat.

With a helping hand, Dean was able to get up so she could lay a few towels over the mattress and he pulled off his shorts and top before laying belly down as instructed.

What he didn't expect was for Gen to sit on the pillows: she collected his head and pushed a pillow down under his chest, then with her legs spread wide she sat with one foot on the ground, that knee against the side of the mattress, and the other leg splayed out across the bed. She led his forehead to rest on her upper thigh and he slipped his arms around her hips and sighed, surprised and besotted.

Upon the soothing sound of water being wrung out, he took the deepest breath he'd felt in a long time. She worked over his back and shoulders, up his neck and over his hair, ignoring the wetness dripping onto her jeans. The hot water was a cathartic shock, but it quickly turned cold on his feverish body. Gen dried him quickly and asked “How's your skin feel now? Still sting?”

“No, not as much as it did,” he said. He began a coughing fit, found a tissue somewhere, cleared his draining head a bit, and resettled, nuzzling into her muscle.

Dean felt Gen lean away and listened to a container being opened. He wondered about the slathering sounds on her hands, and sucked in a deep breath when he felt her palms land and push from shoulders to waist, the contact slicked by some sort of balm. Very quickly, the vapours of camphor and eucalyptus enveloped him, the hot freeze of it striping over his muscles as she worked and he tried to not leak too much – snot, drool, tears, sobs – as she gently massaged his muscles in simple fat, repetitive motions.

At some point, Dean realised he wasn't awake enough to have any concept of time. He didn't even know what part of the day it was anyway, but he hoped it wasn't too late, that this would go on for a while. However, the feeling of a towel wiping over him seemed to seep into his thoughts, and he assumed he'd dozed off at some stage.

Gen cradled his head and slid herself out from under him, waiting a few minutes before saying “Want some help turning over?”

He didn't answer, but was fairly leaden about moving, so she gave him a hand, the whole thing being interrupted by another coughing fit, the contents of his chest apparently loosened.

“Hey I can breathe,” he said quietly.

“Miracles,” she smiled and he squeezed her hand.

She put a towel over him for warmth and sat down at the end of the bed, collecting his leg and perching the ankle on her shoulder. After soaking a wash cloth in the second bucket, the one that had been far too hot before now, she washed the lengths of muscle and tried to keep her thoughts as platonic as possible. By the second leg, he'd developed a little snore.

Washing down his torso was only slightly slower, but she was being careful of his gut. She did the closer arm first, then the farther, and he slid his hand up and down what he could reach of her as she leaned over. He kept an eye on that deep v-neck too.

Around his neck and jaw, behind his ears and over his face, she came in close, sitting on the bed and kissing him sweetly.

“I'd give you a proper kiss but your breath smells like a hellhound's crack,” Gen said quietly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Ugh, woof,” she coughed. “Also, I'm pretty sure you don't want me to wash your ass, so how about you do that and brush your teeth while I change the sheets?”

“You thought of everything,” he smiled weakly.

“I think of your everything all the time, sweetheart,” Gen smirked, pecking him on the forehead.

With much sighing and pausing, she got Dean into the chair, towels and all. She kept her back turned while he tended to all his corners with some soapy water and struggled into a fresh t-shirt and pair of boxers. He watched her move around the bed while he brushed.

“You all done then?” Gen asked, not yet pulling the sheet back over him as he lay back in the dint.

“Yes ma'am,” he reported. “I'll shiny and minty.”

“I should check,” she said, sliding her fingertips down his belly suggestively.

Dean was hesitant, feeling near exhausted already, but he missed her so much and was already frustrated with how little they'd been able to do in their new relationship.

So he relented when Gen said “I'm not expecting a show at all, it's just more niceness. Doesn't even matter how it ends,” lighting dragging her knuckles over the fabric above his thighs. “Tell me what's good, say when if it's enough...”

“See how we go,” he answered.

Dean let her slide down, muttering “I had no idea those were functioning buttons” when she undid his boxers. He tried to ignore how unsexy his eucalyptusy back smelled, but then any sense of unease slipped away as Gen dropped some baby oil on her hand and lay against him, nose in his neck and fingers in his hair, to reach down and lazily stroke and caress him through the most languid climax he could recall.

Within a day, Dean began to get better, but he wasn't well enough soon enough to join Gen and Sam on their next hunt, a quick salt and burn in Montana. The job itself went well but the trip back was fraught with misfortune.

 


	33. Crunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assholes, ankles and patience afoot...

All Sam heard a dull thud with a gasp and a yelp. It was Gen's "Hey! _HEY!_ " that made him come around the car in alarm.

"Hey! You hurt me!" she was yelling. Sam came up behind her as she climbed out of the car, just in time to catch her as she tried standing but crumpled with a cry.

"What happened?" he asked, ready to be angry.

"You pushed the door closed on my leg! On my ankle!" Gen yelled at the man, who now stood indignantly at the opposite pump, refusing to be sorry as he monitored his gas.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"I felt all my ankle bones go crunch," she said desperately. " _Fuck_ that hurt!"

"You even gonna apologise man?" Sam called.

The guy shrugged and looked away. Sam could tell, with his observant nature and pain-free brain, that the guy felt guilty, but he didn't want to have to apologise. It seemed it didn't suit him to be remorseful, especially when he was told to. Sam wanted to urge him toward doing the right thing, so he approach him a bit saying "Dude, I know it was an accident, but it was your fault. A simple sorry goes a long way."

Gen was sitting again, assessing the damage and quickly realising she needed some ice.

"Well, shit happens man," the guy says. "What's an apology gonna do?"

There was a second there, where he considered rolling his eyes or glaring, but suddenly he was both helping Gen and holding her back as she hobble-hopped past him growling "It'll keep me from punching you in the nose!"

"Hey! Don't freaking touch me!" the guy warned, his voice high enough to reveal panic.

Sam grabbing Gen's nearest arm made little difference: she's good with either and was ready to strike. Plus she didn't seem the least bit scared, or concerned about being shorter, in the midst of fury and pain.

The guy began again, saying " _Don't_ you fucken-" while pulling a short gun from his waist band, but he was either slow or unpractised and Gen had his hand in hers, the gun slipped from his grip as she said "You fucker," and donked him firmly on the skull with the butt.

He was corralled by the pump hose, stunned by her swiftness and frightened by how quickly she'd disarmed him. None of it braced him for the scolding about to come.

" _Never_ pull out a gun at a gas pump! Okay? _Never!_ " she yelled at him, her finger two inches from his nose. He leaned back, eyebrows first. "You made a mistake, it was an accident, and the grown up thing to do is check if the person who _might've_ been hurt was _actually_ hurt and see if they need anything because it was _you_ who made that hurt happen, _even if you didn't mean to_. You say sorry! _Okay?_ " That time she waited for a response.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Do you understand how much I can kick your ass? One legged? Fucken apologise, dipshit, before I smack you."

"I'm sorry."

"Coz smacking you would be at the lesser end of how angry I am," she went on, ignoring his response. "Between my ankle and your being an asshole I feel like doing a whole lot more but _I know_ how much I could own you so-"

"I'm sorry!" he pleaded loudly. "I really am!"

She breathed in through her nose, pursed her lips and stood upright. The pump had clicked off by now and he waited for her next decision.

Gen removed the bullets from his small revolver and threw them through his car window. She turned the handle toward him and stepped back saying "You need to either get better with this weapon or leave it at home. You're not good enough for it to be an asset and not a danger."

"Right," he replied, with no sign of whether he understood her or not.

She took a deep breath and decided, rather than return his gun, "You get this back when you buy me an ice pack." Then turned and hopped back to her seat.

Gen waited there till he returned with a ready ice pack from the gas station store. She wound down the window as he leaned over for the exchange. "It was an accident," he said again.

"Of course it was!" she scowled back. "But you refusing to apologise wasn't. What are you, forty-something? Seriously man..." Gen shook her head in admonishment and he stood, sore and sour, returning to his car.

At the next stop Gen needed Sam's help to get up the four rickety steps to the restroom and he had to wait for her before helping her back down, the whole framework almost too flimsy to take her hopping weight. She still got a splinter from the handrail.

Then she got a stomach ache from one of the many things they'd eaten at the half-dozen or so eateries over the last few days.

"Just drive please Sam," she sighed. "I wanna go home."

Several broken speed limits and three extremely awkward roadside stops later, Sam had Gen pinned to his side to help her into the bunker. As they did their sad three-legged walk down the corridor, Dean bounced up to them announcing "I went for a run!"

Sam stopped, face full of warning, and Gen looked at him with a clammy, stony brow.

"I went for a freaking jog!" he announced. "Man I feel so good!"

"I feel so not," Gen matched.

"Shit, sweetheart, I thought you were okay," he says in confusion, beginning to come around her other side to help support her.

"No, I'm not well enough for you too," she said, recoiling. In truth she was a bit shitty he was so healthy when she felt so rank. "I told you I was sick."

"Yeah," he acknowledged, "I thought it had passed. Aw I'm sorry, Gen. Hey, let me take you to your room." He was in a ridiculously good mood, even during commiserations.

"No, let Sam," she waved him away, not wanting him anywhere near her range of stinky stenches. "I'm so foul, Dean."

"Thanks," said Sam.

Dean gave her a quick peck on the forehead and jogged away – _jogged_ – to get things from the car. When he got back to Gen's bedside – fresh ice and bandage, bucket, water, drugs, OJ and crackers already arranged by Sam – he held her hand while she lay on top of the sheets.

"You want some help getting under the blankets?" he offered.

"No, I'm fine," she sighed. "I don't really need the bucket... there's nothing left anyway."

Dean winced. "You still look pretty pasty," he reported, feeling her forehead. "Want me to check your foot?"

"Yes please."

It was purple, blue and yellow, the hard lines of the door frame clear on her inner ankle. "God, he's lucky I wasn't there," Dean muttered.

"I'll let Sam tell you how that went down," Gen said. "You'da been proud of me."

"Yeah?"

"Hit him with his own gun."

"What? You never mentioned a gun!" he said, re-wrapping the ankle with a fresh pack and bandage.

"Talk to Sam," she said. "I think I should sleep."

"Okay," he came to sit beside her and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry you're so... so shit. I missed you."

" _Still_ miss you," she agreed. "That's most of why I'm so pissed."

He smirked and laughed a little. "I even have another job, something small I thought you and I could do together."

"Aw, like a mini retreat?"

"Yeah, a cute little hunt, in a cabin even."

"A runt hunt," Gen smiled. "I'm swooning."

"I'll take Sam and be back as soon as, okay?" he said quietly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "Miss you a while longer."

"Kay."

"Hey, look at me," he urged, realising she'd had her eyes closed the whole time.

"Nooo," she moaned as he shook her gently. "No, you're all healthy and handsome and leaving." But she did, and it didn't help either, in exactly the way she'd predicted. "Ugh, you look better than ever."

Dean laughed at her and leaned over to kiss her cheek, gently but slowly, his hand cupping her head. "I'll be back soon to say bye."


	34. Restart

The job took four days. It was during the last darkness before dawn when they were done.

"Do me a favour, 'kay?" Sam said. "Don't trip over on the way to the car, don't get food poisoning, don't develop an allergy, and don't talk to anyone on the way home."

"Ugh, you're surprisingly protective all-"

"You're healthy, I'm healthy, Gen's better," he summarised, closing the boot on their shovels and salt. "Let's get home in one piece for a change."

"Amen brother," Dean said. He pulled out his phone and headed for shotgun. "Drive for a bit yeah? I wanna text Gen."

"Sure," Sam said, thinking of what music he'd play along the way. Dean was in such a good mood these days he barely argued about it at all.

In fact he said nothing, for about 20 minutes. Then Sam started to notice him squirm a little and quickly assumed the texting was getting... intimate.

"Hey," Dean began, then cleared his throat. "You mind if we go via Denver?"

Sam thought a moment; Denver was south and they're headed east. "It's not exactly on our way..."

"Yeah, I know, but I want to get something and I think I need a big city for it."

"Can't you get it online?"

"That takes forever," Dean grumbled. "And no, not this."

"Why not this?"

"Coz it's personal!" Dean replied, loudly. Sam looked at him with surprise, his face sliding into _oh really?_ and decided to work the leverage.

"You need... you need to see a doctor... or someone?" he asked.

Dean looked at him coldly. "You gonna be an asshole about this?"

"Maybe," Sam smiled.

"You know, you haven't had your turn at being injured yet."

"I'm driving," he warned. "C'mon, give me a good reason. You guys been sharing hot texts or something?"

Dean smirked and laughed a little like _Oh you have no idea_.

Sam drove the Impala into a gas station, pulling on the park break as he said "I dunno Dean, doesn't seem like you've got that good of a reason."

"Sam, I'm hardly going to show you the texts – they're personal!" Dean looked at him a moment. "C'mon man!"

"Is that... Are you... giving me puppy eyes?!" Sam asked. "On _me_?"

"I don't even know! All I can think about is this! These!" he sighed and thumped his phone into Sam's chest.

Dean stared ahead, brain occupied with ideas, as Sam scrolled through the conversation and found that the messages weren't explicit so much as suggestive.

Dean had started with "Hey, we're on our way back. Done and dusted. No injuries."

Gen: Thank god. I'm almost frustrated with health. This close to going for a trail run.

Dean: Know how you feel. Feels like I haven't really seen you in weeks.

Gen: You haven't. Got some catching up to do. The bunker's been neglected.

Dean: You give me ideas.

Gen: Did we even start on the alphabet?

At this point Sam wondered if he should read on, but the need for Denver wasn't yet explained...

Dean: Nope. How about I throw you a C. C for...?

Gen: Clamps.

Dean: Shit I did not expect you to say that. Really?

Gen: What?! It's texting. I dunno. Maybe I got a hunch ;)

Dean: You mean the verb or the noun?

Gen: Dean, I get so wet when you talk grammar to me. Oooh but both! Isn't the noun named after the verb?

Dean: Did you want me to actually get some?

And Gen had replied "I dunno. Suppose so. Does it matter if we never use them?"

At this point Sam glanced at Dean; the puppy-dog face was still intact, even as he gazed ahead.

"Nope" was all Dean had written.

Sam swallowed and checked if Dean was really watching before thumbing in the question "How many?"

Within a few seconds, Gen's reply had Sam's heart rate up and he was swallowing again. He shoved the phone back into Dean's chest, reporting "We'll get gas and head south to Denver," then got out of the car.

Dean looked down at the screen, read Sam's question and then Gen's answer: "5"

" _Fuck_."


	35. Attention all shoppers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets brave in the grabby-goods aisle.

Well, that was awkward.

They'd gotten into Denver about an hour after stores started opening, but the biggest adult toy store in the city didn't open till 10am, so they went to a diner for some coffee and talked about anything else.

"I probably should'na shown you those messages," Dean said absently. An intense stare had spread across his face, brow flat and stern.

"We don't have to tell her," Sam offered. "I'm a pretty good liar."

"It's not like you couldn't imagine what a couple might do, if you wanted to, so maybe let's just pretend you did that," Dean explained.

Sam's right cheek pinched up towards his eye and he looked at Dean, wondering how the hell he thought that was a solution.

"Sorry," Dean sighed, frowning at the napkins again.

Sam waited in the car as Dean took over 20 minutes in the adult toy shop. The store clerk had been lovely, helpful and kind, and very thorough about the tricks and traps of starting with clamps. At the counter she handed him the bag saying "Threw in a pretty little something for your girl," and winked, "being a first-time customer and all. Come back whenever you need."

When Dean got back in the driver's seat he threw the purchase down next to him and started the engine as quickly as he could.

Sam unconsciously looked at the bag, but his eyes caught corners of packaging and his curiosity was piqued. "Can I see?" he asked.

"Sure," Dean replied automatically, but he had second thoughts. Then he took a deep breath and decided that, fuck it, he had a girlfriend and he really,  _really_ liked her so he wasn't going to care what Sam thought about his efforts to make her happy. He watched the road while Sam turned the boxes over in his hands.

"Shit," Sam muttered, "these look awesome."

"Yeah?" Dean said, surprised at his own relief.

"Yeah, if they do what they look like they do," he said while he inspected. "Adjustable is good."

"When isn't it?" Dean agreed.

Sam put them back in the bag and looked out the window, resting his elbow on the frame, chin in his hand. A smile grew and Dean noticed him smothering his mouth.

"What?" Dean asked. "Don't be an asshole. What?"

"You're gonna be gone for either 3 minutes or 3 days," Sam said and looked at Dean with a big grin on his face.

Dean glared at the road and nodded, frowning. "They both sound terrible," and then couldn't hold it in any more. "Son of a bitch," he groaned ruefully, grinning and shaking his head.

Sam laughed his head off and got comfortable, napping for a few hours before they swapped.


	36. Jiggety Jig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shares what he bought for Gen.

The brothers came upon Gen in the library and their happy greeting gave away nothing about their morning's detour. The only thing slightly new about it was how Dean kissed her hello with a long, pressing warmth, ignoring Sam completely, both of them smiling half way through. They ate and relaxed and caught up. When Sam went to get some food they kissed again, Gen climbing into his lap to get close, Dean's hands affectionately rubbing up and down her body as she cupped his head.

"Do you think we could take off a day or so?" Gen ask hopefully.

"Yeah, provided you've found nothing new," he said.

"I've been fighting off the guilt about my glee," she reported. "There's been nothing within our range all day and my happiness about that is entirely selfish." He grinned at her. "Of course, I am also thoroughly delighted that people are not dying of monsters, but only marginally less so."

"Not sure you're gonna be happier than me," he murmured, nudging up at her again for another kiss.

"Why's that?" she asked, threading her fingers into his hair.

"Coz I know what I brought home for you."

Gen looked down at him, questions ready, but Sam interrupted them, returning with an afternoon snack to share.

"Yeah, okay, pace yourselves kids," he griped. "I'm still here."

On the way back to Dean's room he acted like he was listening to Gen talk, and he was, but he wasn't really watching her because his mind's eye was occupied with the imagery sparked by his purchase. In his room, he ignored his overnight bag and pulled her in for a hugging kiss, his hands sliding everywhere and surprising her with their pressure and urgency.

It wasn't difficult, though, for her to match him and press herself against his body. They kissed and felt each other, humming and sighing, taking the time to collect the feeling of each other's warm hands, soft lips and smell, something that was fast coming to mean home and comfort to them both.

Dean finally wrapped his arms around Gen's waist and squeezed as he paused on a deep kiss, then slid his hands down and held her backside to lift her off the ground a bit, just to emphasise, and she felt then how he was growing in his jeans.

"Can I show you?" he asked against her mouth.

"What?"

"What I bought?"

She smiled at him and his impatience. "Okay. Is it going to freak me out?"

"I hope not," he said. "I'm hoping you'll really enjoy it."

He gave her a short peck and went to his bag saying "We don't have to use them right away, or at all even, really, I just can't not show you," he confessed.

Gen had turned to throw her flannel shirt over his chair, and suddenly found two boxes held in front of her, Dean's cheek against her ear as his hand hugged around her waist.

She looked a the first one, her face growing intense, much like Dean's had back at the diner.

The smaller box contained two nipple rings. The picture showed them as sliver, little balls meeting where they connected, with a short string hanging three little metal balls off each. She turned the box over to read its information. Dean's hands started to stroke her waist, then her arm, as he struggled to contain his curiosity.

The second package took some looking. It had a picture of a pink, silicon covered object on the front called a wishbone clitoris clamp. She quickly flipped the box for more info and read about how the little outer arms – shaped like a wishbone – could hold or clamp open the labia, while the part in the middle could clamp the clitoris. Dean waited patiently, unsure of her opinion but buoyed by her opening the box to examine the instructions and warnings.

"Adjustable is good," she said quietly.

"That's what Sam said," Dean shared.

"Sam?" she repeated, looking up.

"Uh-"

"What does Sam know about this?"

"Well, in the car-"

"How much does Sam know about this?" she asked, looking at him sternly over her shoulder.

Dean was apprehensive but decided to go with the facts. "Well, we did stop at a massive store for sex toys. And there wasn't much else around. So... I figure he knows somethin'."

Gen wasn't fooled in the slightest. She tried to scold him with her glare, but in truth Dean was holding in a proud smile, for some reason, and she couldn't see the point in punishing him about it when he looked so cute with those shy dimples.

She took a deep breath and turned back to the boxes, letting Dean resettle his arms around her.

"My room..." she began.

"Sorry?"

"My room is farther away from everything," she murmured, still reading. She stopped and pulled out the wishbone clamp itself, turned it over in her fingers.

Dean swallowed and felt himself straining against his jeans.

"I should give it a rinse first," she said absently.

"There's a special silicone cleanser,' he said helpfully, digging into the bag for her. "It's foaming!"

"Right," Gen muttered, and turned it over for a thorough inspection too.

"You okay?" Dean checked.

"Yeah!" she said, her expression lightening and she put the boxes on the desk to turn in his arms. "Thank you," she kissed him. "Thanks for getting those, even if we don't use them. It was very thoughtful of you."

"I was full of thought, believe me."

"Ha, yeah, well, we've got a few hours before dinner and whether we use those things or not," she said, running her fingers over his chest, her gaze following their trail before she looked back up at him. "They're certainly in the right theme for what I've got in mind."

"Yeah, you got me on board there," he sighed, swaying her a little. "Did you want to go to your room?"

Gen started to nod and licked her lips. "Yeah, I think so. You going to make it that far?" she asked, nudging his groin gently.

"Oh, I'll make it," he promised. "Actually, you go ahead. I'll be there in 5."

"Kay," she said and kissed him again before he let her go. She put the gifts back in their bag, without repacking the wishbone clamp, saying "Should probably keep these in my room," like it was some sort of safety concern.

"Sure thing," he agreed, and watched her leave.


	37. C is for...

On second thought, Dean decided to have a quick wash and texted Gen "5min more, gonna shower."

By the time he'd done that and sorted his clothes some, he found Gen already sitting on her bed, in her bathrobe and reading one of the boxes. She put it back on the desk as he came in, smiling shyly with a high colour already in her cheeks.

"Sorry, felt too gross," he said. "You get impatient?" he asked, smiling a little at her ready costume.

"Yeah," she smiled, rubbing her palms down her legs as he sat next to her. He turned toward her, pulling a knee onto the bed, and she noticed how chubby he was already, through his track pants.

"We don't have to use those things straight away," he said again for the umpteenth time, swallowing awkwardly, "if you're not ready. They'll keep, and we haven't really done much yet."

"Yeah, no, I know," Gen shrugged, her knees tight as she worked her hips. "Hey, I wanted to give you a head's up. While you were gone, and once I got better, I was _pret_ -ty bored-"

"Oh yeah?" he smirked.

She smiled back, patiently, saying "Well, I trimmed a bit, down there-"

"Riiight-"

"Shut up, I just got sick of all the hair being in the way. So I'm not _nude_ , as such, but it's definitely not as... natural as it was."

"No problem," he assured, dropping the cheekiness. "It's your muff sweetheart, trim away."

Gen took a deep breath and wiggled her hips a little, her palms rubbing her thighs again and sighing "I miss you. I'm not sure I want to play around too much before..."

"No, me neither," he agreed, shifting closer and putting a hand on hers, stilling it on her thigh. "Hey, you ok? Are you nervous?"

"No, just feeling impatient," she said. The look she gave him was so open and pleading, innocent even, Dean was almost confused. She dipped her fingers between her butt and the bed, pulling out a condom she'd gotten.

"Yes you are," he observed. "Okay then." He pulled his t-shirt off and got up to remove his pants, his cock beginning to bob and fill as he sat back down. He led Gen to stand before him, noting how haltingly she moved, how she minced her legs together.

"I found something else in the bag," she confessed.

"Yeah, the chick said she threw in something pretty," he looked up at her, "A freebie, uh, think it was a hair clip or something."

Gen swallowed her smile, and tempered her breathing, saying "It's not a hairclip."

"Oh... What is it?" he murmured, his chin turned up to her as she stood between his legs.

She loosened the robe's sash and pulled it open, slipping it from her shoulders so it dropped to the ground.

Immediately Dean's eye was caught by something glinting on her vulva. There were two little strings, about an inch long, of transparent pink and white beads resting on her neatly trimmed labia. With the hair cut short to about a centimetre, he could see the shape and seam of her, as well as the tiny loops of metal that held the hanging beads, the thin wire disappearing down between the folds.

"That's not... a hair... Christ..." he breathed. His gaze slid up her body to her face, her breasts framing his view, as he looked at her helplessly. "That's... You're beautiful."

She smiled a little laugh, her chest bouncing slightly with gasps while she managed the sensation.

"Fuck, Gen, how you doin'?" he wondered.

"It feels _really_ good," she whined. She clenched her fists, not even needing to move to feel the tease.

"Yeah," he agreed, running his hands up to her hips to squeeze, and saw her work her legs together a little, the beads glinting.

Dean felt the tightness in his cock now, how his pulse was urging him to do something, and began to sympathise with her desperation. He'd feel sorry for her if she didn't look so pleasured at the same time, her jaw and knees working in control, her lips slack and full, waiting for something, waiting for him to help her. "You wanna sit down baby?"

"Only if I can sit on your cock," she said pleadingly, her hands cupping his jaw as she leaned down to kiss and talk against his mouth. "Please Dean, I miss you. And it feels so good."

He kissed her back quickly saying "Yeah okay sweetheart, I gotcha, hang tight." He snatched at the condom and ripped it open, Gen's forehead rolling on his head as he got ready.

"God my thighs are wet, Dean."

"Ah, not helping," he gritted, rolling the last of it down and working it comfortable.

"Feels like my pussy's sucking on nothing," she whispered.

" _Not helping,_ " he growled. He grabbed her head with one hand, her hip with he other, kissing her hard as he led her legs over his lap and she breathed heavily, mewling at the change of position. She reached down to drag her hand over his hardness and lead him back. He chanced a look, watching her body open before him, swollen, shining and near red, cursing _Sweet Jesus_ as he saw how the little clamp looped straight down and back up again either side of her clitoris, the beads swinging around the hood as she moved.

Gen's hold was vice-like – one hand on the back of his head, the other on his shoulder – as she lowered herself non-too-slowly. He watched her eyes press closed and bitten, heavy lips fall open as she tightened her body in response, then sucked in a breath of his own as her low buzz finally pushed down over him and pulled him in. He pressed his fingertips into her hip and cupped the back of her head with his forearm between her shoulder blades. Dean waited one beat, then kissed her hungrily, sucking in her taste. He rolled himself against her body, surging her breasts upwards with his reaching motions, and she moaned on each breath, soon breaking away to gasp openly.

"Ah fuck," she moaned, and sucked on her teeth. "Dean, you feel perfect, just, perfect," she pressed her head against his, rolling it around and clenching her jaw. "Thick. It fills. 'N the push. Uh, God..."

He kissed around her cheek and nuzzled into her neck. "You too," he huffed. "You smell so good... you're all hot... everywhere... squeezin' me just right... s'hard to hold back," he breathed. "How do you want it, huh?"

"Hard," she pleaded through gritted teeth, "please, and deep. Fuck."

She was starting to pull on him with her hands now. He leaned backwards onto the bed, taking her with him and rolled her onto her back, little moans punching out of her as her clit was randomly nudged about. Then he leaned away to hold her hip and used the next few thrusts to help shift her up the bed. She moaned loudly, reaching for him as she felt the root of him push her apart.

Dean looked down, hoping some functional part of his brain would commit this scene to memory, her gorgeous breasts rocking back and forth because of him, her pleasure-wrought face praying his name, her legs and body, open and wet and swollen, for him.

When he thought he couldn't take it any more he dived down, claiming her mouth and noises with his own, moaning with her as he began slamming his hips against hers, aiming for depth and knocking her clit with his pelvis. Her voice jumped in pitch and she grasped his head desperately, her sounds close to sobbing as she tried to say his name.

Then he began drawing back at an angle, dragging his tip back and forth over her g-spot. Gen threw her head back to cry out, clawing at him and almost crawling away with her reaction. He slipped his arm up her back and hooked his grip on her shoulder, leaned on his elbow and barely got four thumping thrusts into her before she yelled out his name and gasped, her thighs trembling tight against his hips as he felt her whole groin quake around him. He moaned hard in surprise, gasped "Ge- _en!_ "on the next breath, and took her mouth on his as they pulled and pushed with their arms and lips. A flash of sweat broke out across their bodies and Dean's rhythm tripped to a stop, deep and pulsing inside her, their jaws leaning, noses touching as they frowned and puffed and held each other.


	38. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean apologises and gives back a little.

Gen dragged her fingers down Dean's scalp, sending a shiver over his cooling back, then reached down between them to find the little strings and gently widen the clamp enough to remove it. The release sent a little tremble through her again, a mini-clench around Dean, making him hiccup and cough _Uh god-damn_. She cracked a lazy sideways smile and got to watch him open his eyes to her as his hands began to move. With a soft palm on his jaw she ran her fingers over his features, tracing his brow and hairline, letting him look at her as she caressed.

After a quick, fat kiss Dean pulled away to clean up and Gen started pulling the blankets back. When he returned, he lay next to her on the white sheets, and propped himself on his elbow to look at her facing him on her side. She rested there, her top arm and leg slightly bent, and he dragged his hot hand in a slow loop over her body, taking in her proportions and lines uninterrupted: over her shoulder to her waist, up her spine to the nape of her neck, brushing her hair away, back down over the curve of her hip and bottom, stroking her thigh and slipping his knuckles up her belly to trace the curves on her breast and then her neck and jaw.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I lied when I said I wanted a fling."

Gen looked up at him, blissed out from the sex and the sight of him now. She didn't care what he'd said to her that night.

"I don't think I'll lie to you again," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

She kissed him back and smoothed down his cheek and neck, over his shoulder and chest. After a while, she replied "Yes you will."

His face flickered doubt, or curiosity, before she said "One day you'll tell me you're fine," and the breath out his nose said he knew she was right.

"Or that you can't take any more," she smiled suggestively and he watched his hand cup her breast again, half smiling back. "Or you'll say 'Mmmm delicious!'" she mimicked, mouth full of pretend terrible food and he laughed with her. "It's okay," she said, rolling onto her back and shuffling under him. "I think I'll probably know what you mean."

"Did you know that first night?" he kissed her. "Did you think then that I didn't mean it?"

"I think... I had an inkling you were taking it more seriously than you should've, for a fling... but I was going to take whatever I could get."

"Hmmm," he kissed again, "I'm a lucky guy, that you know me that well... but I'll try not to lie again. I'll say 'Ouch'-" Gen interrupted him with a hearty laugh, because she realised she'd _never_ heard him say that. "I will! And I'll say 'More' and 'Don't stop'-" He smeared himself against her, pulling her leg up to his waist and sliding his hand over her smooth skin as he gazed over her. "And I'll say, 'Honey, this tastes like shit'-"

She chuckled, replying "Then you'll find yourself saying that more often than the rest."

"I'll never say it about you," he murmured, nosing about her ear and licking the soft and firm patches around there. "I remember how you smelled on my fingers that first night... Let me taste you again."

"Oh, God... Dean," she sighed, "I'm so-"

"Please," he suckled and tickled her neck to woo her, feeling her respond warmly to his sensitive attention. "I didn't get to see enough before and what I caught looked so gorgeous. Please... say if it's too much? ...see how we go?"

Gen hummed and shifted, seeming to be open to the idea, and he slid himself down, kissing the curves and nudging the softness, humming over her as he went. She let him out of her arms, soon feeling his hand splayed out under her pelvis and his shoulder pushing her leg wide. His fingers ran up and down her other thigh, stroking the dips and planes. She heard him sigh _son of a bitch_ before his warm breath ghosted over her wetness, a tingle still echoing from before. She reached down to thread her fingers through his hair and he looked up a moment, smiling at how her elbows nudged her breasts together, the pretty lines of cheek bone and eyelash as she pressed her head to the pillow.

Dean watched her as he dropped his head down to lightly lick her still-plump folds, gently dragging from core to clitoris, and listened to her soft gasps and sighs. She began to rock her hips toward him, and he put his lips over hers, suckling and licking tenderly, using the smooth tip more than the rough flat in her sensitive state. He traced the edges and valleys a few times, then settled around her clit, directing pressure over the different parts, sucking and nudging without friction, and her sounds began to beg again.

Slipping two fingers inside, he slowly worked them in and out, hugging her a little to anchor, and began a sleepy rhythm upon and inside her to lead her along. She worked with him, her speed and breathing slowly increasing. He crooked his reach and heard her cry _Oh!_ and clutch at his hair. He moaned deeply in reply, brushing inside her once more, and she said it again, higher, louder, and with a flush of heat and moisture that spread over her from Dean's lips and fingers.

He licked and lapped, letting her calm while she patted his hair as best she could, her fingers quivering slightly. Then he closed her knees together like a book and crawled up to pull her body flat against his.

"Nap now," she said.

"Kay," he soothed.

"I don't know what happened," she mumbled. "It used to be I couldn't and now..."

"Maybe you've learned how, you can do it more easily," he suggested, pulling the blankets over them.

"It's you," she said, snuggling against him and nuzzling his neck. "You."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say there may be a pause here: I haven't yet decided which way things will go with Gen and Dean, plus I'm set for a major interruption (hopefully happy - touch wood) in the next few weeks. So if there's a chapter or two, or none, and a big pause, that's what's happening. Thank you for reading for so long, I really appreciate your time :)


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